Recoil
by Glitter and Kisses
Summary: If he lives through her all her memories to claim her... will she have spent her whole life with him? Bakura/Necrofear. Ancient Egypt!/Shadow Realm/Battle City. Borderline Lolicon. Dubcon. Highly experimental.
1. Victims of Fate

**WARNINGS: Borderline Lolicon (underage female x older male), slight mentions of violence, necromancy, experimental piece.**

_Attempt at dollshipping. For Melissa, though she probably will never read it._

Recoil

_It's the real thing; the safety's off._

She knows better than to ask his name.

"I won't tell you who I am," she had said. "I don't want to know who you are, either."

"And why's that?" he had asked.

"Because it makes it easier for us to think of each other as people, and not victims of fate."

And once more, she had caused him to fall silent.

She sits in front of the fire, with a stranger, a man nearly twice her age, sharing her meal with him. Two lost souls in the desert, and they both know it. It's rare to find company in these times, and though he's grown cold and solid, he enjoys it while he can. She's not as tainted, but she knows she soon will be, and he knows just as well, but while she clings to a shred of her innocence, he lets her.

She shows him the broken doll. A memento of her sisters, she says. She tells him of the mother who wanted to save her children from slavery and marked their throats, the mother who went insane at the beauty of life and strangled her children one by one until she ran away for her life.

It has been years, and she still speaks about it in third person.

She speaks of her sisters with fondness, laughs about running around unlike girls should, fighting with brooms as swords. She tells him of the merchant's son who once put the ribbon in her hair and said he would marry her. She ran away without saying goodbye.

He tells her of Kul Elna, of the fearless cat that pounced on him when he was a child, of his father's Friday night ritual of taking him and his cousins to the marketplace to watch the fire-eaters and stare at the moon. He loves the moon, but to him, the stars give him absolution.

And for one night, it's not about necromancy. She's not whoring her magic on the streets for people who can't appreciate it, just to get a bite to eat. And for him, it's not about stealing for a living or even for the thrill of it. Even though they both hate him, it isn't about the damn Pharaoh. It's about something deeper, and he can feel it and she can feel it.

The stars give him absolution, he says.

For tonight, it's about appreciating the dark energy, and she shows him the full extent of her power, free of charge. She sits in the sand and draws a huge circle, taking the time to perfect the symbols with her fingers; and once the masterpiece is finished, she chants out words he cannot understand and the spirits come out in an exodus and ravage the desert. It takes his Diabound a solid ten minutes to defeat them.

"You're tainted, child," he says bitterly.

Her golden eyes narrow. "I know."

And they watch the moon in silence, until she hands him a ribbon and asks him to tie her hair. And he does, fingers fumbling because he's never done this before, slipping through silk and straight black hair she swears she'll shave off once she fulfills her promise to her sisters.

She smiles and says she'll think of him instead of the merchant's son, and half-jokes that she would be lucky to marry him. He falls silent once again, thinking about his fleeting life and the blood on his hands, and how he's never even considered love. How it's a waste of time, how power and revenge are all that fuel him. Except, once things are in order, it might be nice for a little constant companionship.

He tells her not to get her hopes up and that he will be gone by sunrise, though she already knows this very well. And she kisses him quiet. His eyes widen in surprise, but he does not resist, and leans into it. And in that moment it doesn't matter that she's barely fourteen, because he'd made his first kill long before then; doesn't matter that they barely know each other; doesn't matter that tomorrow he will be returning to his way of vengeance and she will display her powers for those who don't understand. Nothing matters except hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and nervous tongues and the stars above them absolving them. And it means a lot more to her than it does to him, but it's still _something_.

She tastes like death, he notices.

She asks him not to forget her, because it's the only way she'll transcend death.

"Do you fear death?" he asks her.

"I am obsessed with it," she replies.

He tells her to forget him, and he is gone by sunrise.

Five thousand years later they reunite, and he knows it, brushing fingertips that aren't his own across the card. She's older, darker, and part of him mourns her lost innocence, though part of him is pleased that they have reached the same level. He sees her hair is gone, but she still has the doll and golden eyes. She's set to kill. She's no longer the Lolita from the desert, but an instrument, a victim of fate. She's changed, but then again, so has he.

A feral smile creeps upon his face, a smile that doesn't belong to him, as he relishes the fact that her dark magic, beyond powerful at this point, is his alone. He's always been the possessive type.

"Hello, Dark Necrofear," he says. It's not her name, but it's the only one he knows her by.

She knows better than to ask for his name, but even if she did, he wouldn't have told her. He doesn't remember it.

* * *

><p>AN: I've never watched memory arc, so my knowledge of TKB is reduced to Wikipedia and fanfics. Also, I've always wanted to write Lolicon (though I admit, 14 isn't exactly prepubescent, but I don't have the stomach to write anything Pedobear-approved. Also, in Nabokov's novel, Lolita is 12), just to try it out. I wouldn't put TKB in a normal het relationship, he's too damaged. I don't know why, but I wanted to bring out the humanity in both of them. It was an experimental piece.

It took me a lot of guts to post this. I left you warnings in bold at the beginning. No flames please

**Edit: This was written as a oneshot. Then my muses assaulted me. I made it into a chapter story a week later. I guess just consider this an introduction?**


	2. Waking Up

**WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, recurring theme of death, spoilers, tuberculosis/spitting up blood, historically inaccurate, dark, just a LOT of blood in general.**

_A tribute to my mindless muses._

Recoil

_I don't want to wake up feeling like I've slept through all my life._

The Spirit runs his fingers over the card again and again, over the golden letters and holographic image. Slips it into Yadonushi's deck. Insists on it being there. _Insists_.

He sits in his room on the Battle City blimp, cards strewn out on the table as he perfects his strategy, and she's at the center of it. He begins to question if it is solely because of her power, or because of something more. Throws in the Destiny Board. Smiles wickedly, something familiar stirring inside of him at the sight of the power he has assimilates. Victory is inevitable at this point.

He stops cold as footsteps pass his room, two sets of them: one determined and dominating, the other the fast pitter-patter of a child. The energy of the Blue Eyes White Dragon. He had witnessed it once, from a shy, blue-eyed girl being attacked in the marketplace, but could waste no time to investigate it further.

The blue-eyed child in the hallway laughs and encourages his Niisama. The loyalty is implied.

They pass, and the Spirit instinctively rests his fingertips on _that card_ again. Holds it up to his face for the millionth time. But then again, he's always been the type to obsess as well as possess, just like he's obsessed on revenge for so long he can't live outside of it. And she's just another instrument in helping him attain it. Should he feel bad for thinking of her like an object? He barely gives it a second's thought.

"You're going to help me win this duel," he tells her. He's not above "help," he's already proven that in his partnership with Malik Ishtar. He's not a fool like Kaiba, too prideful to join forces with another. He's thought to himself that this will be Kaiba's downfall. If only he were dueling Kaiba, but the Pharaoh is just as delicious of an opponent to defeat, if not more.

She doesn't answer. She hasn't said a word since he first touched her, and it's made him feel slightly uneasy. "Are we clear? You're going to win this duel for me!" he repeats. Still not a sound.

He knows the one place where she'll speak, and with the ring, he takes himself there. He doesn't fear the Shadow Realm; he indulges in it. He is the darkness, after all.

Just as planned, she comes out of the card and materializes in front of him. He hadn't thought it would be anything important; he's seen this happen all the time, but his breath hitches in his throat because it's her, and she's very, very real.

And that's a very good thing.

Slowly, the familiar dark smile takes over his features, his eyes narrowing, and he reaches a hand out to her, stopping inches away. He won't touch her. He will let her do it on her terms. He understands the ancient games and the power that comes with them. Understands _her_ power. Respects it. Almost respects her, if he knew how to.

"Necrofear." It's a question without the question mark. He had forgotten about her days after their encounter, though not fully forgotten, as he had _known_ it was her as soon as his fingers touched the card.

"Desert stranger," she acknowledges, a bit of humor in her voice.

He resists the urge to dismiss the pleasantries and tell her there's no time. He's too fixated on how she's changed. He's _curious_. Doesn't really care, thought; there's a difference.

"You still remember me?" he scoffs. "I told you to forget me."

"And I asked you not to forget me, but you did. That makes us even."

"You've changed," he tells her, stating the obvious.

"So have you," she notes. "You're darker. That's good, I was beginning to worry I might be too much for you."

The Spirit laughs. "For me? Dear, I _am_ the darkness."

"Then we won't have any problem getting along."

The baby doll cackles menacingly. Necrofear hushes it, and reaches out her fingertips in acceptance. She allows him to claim her the way Yugi did the Dark Magician and Kaiba did with the Blue Eyes White Dragon. She resents that she's less than a human, that in the end she has to belong to somebody, but she thinks if she _has_ to be a possession, she wouldn't belong to anyone but him.

The moment their fingertips touch, the dark walls of the Shadow Realm spin at a dizzying speed. She sees the burning village and the little boy hiding, the white-haired adolescent growing up on the filthy streets, the Thief King fitting the Millennium Items into their slots. He sees the child running away with a doll in hand, the young girl shamefully showing her necromancy to mocking patrons, the teenager sitting behind a building and shouting at herself.

Once they come to their senses, they withdraw their hands and the room stops, and they find themselves in the sands of Egypt. Bakura is back to the way he once was, tall and tan and muscular, but with a dark glow around him, courtesy of Zork. He knows at once from the dead Pharaoh's men surrounding Necrofear that this is her village, and she's killed them.

It takes one look at her, and he connects how the young girl he met could have become the dark Duel Monster he now knows. She's a bit older now, curves made of hard-earned muscle, her hair down to her waist (and he knows she can't cut it because of the vow she made), all traces of baby fat gone, and sharp golden eyes that make it clear what she has been through. She's in a woman's dress, but the jewelry she wears belonged to men she's killed, undoubtedly the Pharaoh's by the markings of the bracelets.

There is blood coming out of her mouth, down the front of her dress and matted in her dark hair. "This is as far as I can go," she tells him, and he knows she means she died here, and can't see any more of Egypt beyond her death point. "I had a glorious death." She coughs, and more blood splatters out, onto Bakura's face.

"Tuberculosis," he says, wiping the blood from his scar and cheekbones and observing it on his fingers, before licking them clean, a glint of insanity in his eyes. "What a stupid way to die. And so young. You call this glorious?"

"Do not mock me," she tells him, crossing her arms. "At least I find glory where you find fear. Don't tell me you're not afraid of death; you sealed yourself in that ring for millennia and now you inhibit the body of a teenage boy to stay alive."

Bakura twitches. "I have unfinished business to complete. I'd say you're just… _jealous_." He smirks.

"You keep telling yourself that." She coughs again, more harshly, bending down, and it ends up all over her hair again. She holds up her wrist, and he notices a familiar ribbon tied to it. She unwraps it and hands it to him. "Would you?"

He holds it in his hands. "You still keep this? Aren't you the romantic."

She says nothing, doesn't tell him how she wishes she had met him later, when she wasn't a stupid impressionable little child, and the ribbon and impromptu kiss would have meant nothing. Instead, she just turns around and lifts her hair.

He stares at the ribbon again, and slowly ties it around her hair. This time he knows what he's doing. She feels the confidence in his fingers.

He rests his hands on her shoulders, realizing he's never been this close to anyone unless he was about to kill them. She's cold, but he likes this; likes to feel her beneath his fingers. Tightens his grip possessively.

She's a snarky one, and it only makes it more delicious that her power is his.

He leans in, his lips almost brushing against her ear. "You're going to win this duel for me."

"A card is only as good as the duelist who wields it," she replies, causing him to frown. "But I will do my best."

He runs his fingers over one of the bracelets on her forearm, his instinct as a thief resurfacing. "Tell me, why did you accept me as your master so easily? Do you trust me?"

"Careful with that, it's from my most difficult kill," she tells him. "I can't say I trust you, but I don't have anything against you. You have yet to give me a reason to dislike you."

"So you're one of the fools who think well of people unless otherwise proven?"

"Unfortunately. And people have done a wonderful job of giving me reason to hate them at the most inopportune of times."

"_Fool_," he repeats. "It's much simpler to live like me. Dislike everyone unless you have a good reason not to."

"Why?"

"Because you're a Ra-damned idiot if you haven't realized the whole world is against you."

Without warning, from the distance, a man, no doubt one of the Pharaoh's, comes into view, charging full speed on a horse. With Bakura still gripping onto her shoulders, his fingers clenching in surprise, she traces symbols in the air, chanting, and forcefully extends her arms with a scream. A blinding purple light flies forward and knocks him off his horse and onto the ground. Howling spirits swirl around him and suck the life out of him, until he falls back lifeless.

"You've really improved it, haven't you?" notes Bakura.

"It still… takes up… a lot of energy," she pants, and coughs again, falling to her knees, still hacking forcefully. Bakura just watches with indifference as blood spews forth into the sand. "That was… the last one."

She falls and rolls onto her back, still staring up at him. "Mission accomplished. Vengeance is mine." She gingerly (elegantly) wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, heaving, her face flushed with fever. "Half an hour of agony, and then I go."

"You really do find glory in death. How interesting," says Bakura.

"I think it's the most personal thing anyone can share with someone else," she says, still short of breath. She coughs again. "People would say the same about… relations… but I think death is the most intimate."

"And why's that?"

"Because it's your weakest moment, and you don't get any second chances. You only die once, and if you blow it, well it's like your life is a sentence and you just messed up the punctuation. It changes the whole thing. And to let someone else watch you end it all, whether you die in glory or you mess it up, it takes a lot of trust."

"And you're going to let me witness your death?" smirks Bakura.

"No." Her chest rises and falls with difficulty. "I don't know what happened with the Shadow Realm, but… you weren't supposed to see any of this. I don't mind, but I don't want you to see me die."

He kneels down over her. "I came here to tell you that failure is not an option," he hisses. "I am dueling the Pharaoh tomorrow and defeat is out of the question."

Her eyes widen and she sits up, wincing. "The Pharaoh? Why didn't you say so before? Of course I'll do everything in my power to defeat him." She grips the edge of his robe and braces herself against his chest as a spastic wave of convulsions overtakes her, and she continually hacks up a surprising amount of blood. In his previous life, he would tell her not to get it on his clothes, but it's just a memory in the Shadow Realm, and he likes the sight of it.

She pulls away and looks at him, fresh blood coating her lips and teeth, and if he wasn't so focused on the duel, he would admit it's the most beautiful thing he has seen in a while; would crash his lips into hers and plunder her mouth (the taste of blood and death) with reckless abandon. "Tell me, why did you choose me? What reason have I given you not to hate me?" She grits her teeth.

He doesn't know if he can put it into words, or if he even wants to give her the satisfaction. He wants to be the one in control here, to know everything about her, but not let her know his secrets. Knowledge is power. He wants power.

"I'll let you figure it out on your own." He takes satisfaction in toying (in seeing her dissatisfied pout), and she's no exception.

The walls of the Shadow Realm spin again until they're dark. Bakura is back as a pale teenager, and Necrofear is the way she appears to be on the card. "Ah, much better."

Bakura stares, captured by the black glow that surrounds her. He likes her better this way, too, likes how her monster form is nothing but a display of the horrid dark powers she harbors. (Though deep down he preys off of vulnerability, and wouldn't mind seeing her at her weakest, either. Both validate his possession of her.)

"Do not fail me," he reiterates. "My strategy revolves around you."

She nods. "I am honored."

"I'm off," he says, and turns around. He's going to sleep, because Yadonushi's body requires it to operate well. He knows the toll a Shadow Game takes on a person, and will need Yadonushi's weak and pathetic body to be rested to withstand the shock of any attack.

Necrofear says nothing, and Bakura disappears.

She rematerializes invisibly at the foot of his bed, hovering, watching him put his cards together. A laugh is heard again from outside the door. Bakura's ears perk up, metaphorically.

Bakura double-checks to make sure he locked the door, before slipping between the sheets into an unwilling sleep.

Monsters don't sleep, and having nothing better to do, Necrofear watches over him, legs crossed, thinking of strategies to defeat the Pharaoh, subconsciously running her hand over her armor.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks to everyone who gave me such positive feedback on the first chapter/initial oneshot and favorited it! I was really nervous about deciding to continue it, and REALLY nervous about posting this. I know it's very strange, but there's a method to the madness. It will all clear up in time.

Even though YB takes on TKB's body in the memories, it's still YB. Does this make any sense?

I will update very infrequently. I'm going back to school soon and pre-med is a pain. Feel free to put this on your alerts list.

No flames please!


	3. Lights Off

**Warnings: Ghosts, language. Age difference.**

_For the faithful Kanashii Umi. (It won't let me put the period there.)_

Recoil 

_Don't take this the wrong way, but you look better with the lights off._

For most of his life, whether as Thief King or the Spirit, Bakura has woken up alone. The only times he has ever awoken to another have been when enemies have threatened to kill him in his sleep, or on the occasion that Yadonushi's father came to visit (and he was sympathetic towards Ryou, which made him an enemy). To see Necrofear sitting at the foot of his bed, legs crossed with a Mona Lisa smile, surprises him so much he has to suppress an exclamation of shock as he sits up and involuntarily jerks back towards the headboard.

She cocks her head slightly, as if to say, "Good morning to you too."

"You've been watching me this whole time?" He raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

She purses her lips and rolls her eyes. A silent "watching _over_ you."

In one swift movement, his feet are on the floor and he's standing up, facing her, his arms crossed. He gives her the sour, sarcastic look he's so famous for, letting her know he's not entertained, but he's not taking any of it seriously. "Feh. I have a duel to prepare for, I don't have time for this nonsense." He turns on his heel (towel and shampoo bottle in hand), headed for the hallway (for the dreaded communal showers. Of course, Kaiba would have his own bathroom). She shrugs, resting her chin on her fist.

He leaves, groaning inwardly. He's never been fond of these daily routines and usually lets Yadonushi have the honor. (For the first year, he had stayed silently in the ring, simply observing modern technology, showers included, and learned how to operate them, though quickly decided it was not something he ever wanted to do.) But today of all days, letting Ryou control the body is out of the question. It would raise suspicion, not to mention the weakling might put up another fight before relinquishing his body again… all troubles Bakura intends to avoid. Shower it is.

Of course, he runs into one of the mortals on the way, the loud-mouth with the blond hair. "Hey, Bakura!"

Bakura puts on his best impression of Ryou (something he's perfected along the years). "Good morning!"

"You nervous, man?" Jou throws an arm around Bakura. Bakura suppresses the urge to throw him across the room.

Bakura laughs lightly. "A bit. Yugi is a tough one. Is he faring well?"

The blond laughs. "You know Yugi. Always nervous but I got my money on him. In the end, he always pulls through. No offense though." He raises his hands in expression.

"None taken."

"You're a good kid." Jou slaps Bakura on the back, and Bakura's eyes narrow for a second. "See ya later, have fun in the john!"

Bakura waves, and as soon as Jou is out of the way, he drops the impersonation, grumbling about annoying mortals and what he wants to do to them. (He wonders what Jou's intestines look like, and is looking forward to finding out.)

Bakura takes his shower cold, like the rivers he used to bathe in when he lived in Egypt. He hates warm water almost as much as he hates the lavender scent of the shampoo Yadonushi happens to prefer. But having anything else would involve shampoo-shopping, which is not on Bakura's current to-do list. So he deals. He thinks to himself that he puts up with too much and is rather merciful to his host. He lets his mind wander for only a second, wondering if there would ever be a blood- or death-scented shampoo, and whether the mortals would buy it, depending on which celebrity promoted it. Foolish mortals. So impressionable.

But there's no time to think about trivialities, as much as Bakura likes to indulge in his humor, so he fights with Yadonushi's thick hair for a bit before washing the rest of the body he has become so accustomed to. It's all just preparation for the Shadow Game, because showers ease the grogginess of the morning (back in Egypt he was strong and there was no grogginess, but Yadonushi is just pathetic), and the lavender keeps up the impersonation. He knows he needs to catch the Pharaoh off guard.

He's almost done when he hears two sets of footsteps against the wet tiles. More mortals. Once they are in their respective stalls, Bakura leaves with a KaibaCorp towel around his narrow waist, and using some shadow magic, sends one Duel Monster or another to block off the hot water pipes. He snickers at the mortals screaming at the sudden shock of cold water.

And he's never been one to care (it's not even _his_ body), so he just walks back to his room in the towel. The door opens automatically. Necrofear has taken over the bed, lying down and hovering over it.

"Out," orders Bakura immediately, pointing, shirt in his hand making him look less serious.

Necrofear sits up and looks at him questioningly.

"Get out," repeats Bakura. "Just because I don't hate you doesn't give you license to do as you wish."

Necrofear resists the urge to laugh, because even though Bakura is a relatively terrifying person, he's still in the body of an effeminate teenage boy, wearing only a towel with white hair fluffed up like an angry cat's. There's still something in his sharp baritone that strikes _something_ in her, though, so (biting her lip to prevent a giveaway smile), she nods and disappears back into the deck.

Bakura sighs, trying to remember where stupid, pathetic Yadonushi stored fresh clothes (because a Thief King is deserving of nothing less). Too many nuisances to deal with. Oh, he remembers, there are no fresh clothes. He came here after escaping from a hospital (and there's a little bruise forming from where he took out the IV needle). He checks the wound on his arm for any bloodloss (wouldn't want to pass out halfway during a duel), gets dressed, and indulges in breakfast, snorting at the KaibaCorp brand milk, the image of Kaiba milking a cow invading his head. (Yadonushi's mindless musings must be rubbing off on him.)

In less than an hour, he'll have to face his greatest enemy. And he's not nervous, because it has never been in his nature to be. There's an excited anticipation, the beginning of the adrenaline rush, the ache for it to happen and enjoy each torturous moment and claim victory in glory. That's what his whole life has been about, right? Desctruction and revenge and hatred. Even his deal with Malik was based on selfishness and nothing else.

For half a second, Bakura thinks, it was a bit refreshing to wake up with someone who doesn't want him dead.

* * *

><p>There's something about being a monster that Necrofear dislikes, something about the lack of control. It comes with a lot less responsibilities and no meinal life tasks, but at the same time, when she's out there on the field, she's fair game for any of various brutal attacks. The graveyard isn't a social place either, but then again, neither is she, so she doesn't mind it too much, but the sheer nerves involved in a Shadow Game are relatively unplasant to her (though, she notices, Bakura seems to enjoy the adrenaline).<p>

The worst part is failure.

She had told Bakura she is only as good as the duelist who wields her, but still, in the midst of defeat, and to the goddamn Pharaoh of all people, she can't help but feel a bit inadequate. Back to the graveyard it is. Which is conveniently located in the Shadow Realm, since it was a Shadow Game, and once again, she's reunited with her "master." She doesn't like thinking of him like that, but in the end, he's the one telling her what to do when she's on the field.

"It seems I underestimated the Pharaoh," grumbles Bakura. "And until my host's body heals a bit, I won't be able to use it without killing him."

"How often do you put the poor boy in these situations?"

"Don't sympathize with him," snaps Bakura. "He's an ally of the pharaoh's. He's only useful to me for his body. As long as it's intact enough to withstand a Shadow Game, I'm content."

Necrofear says nothing, but just stands next to Bakura. He takes a long look at her, realizing that she's younger than she looks. "You know what I like bext about you?" he asks her.

"No."

"Your secret ability. Because it means you keep fighting even after you've supposedly been destroyed. Perseverance. I like your perseverance."

"Thank you." (Unemotional, stoic.)

"Well then, let's look at more of your memories."

Necrofear stops cold. "So that was _you_."

He smirks. "I told you, I am the darkness, and the Shadow Realm is mine to control. Why do you think I have no problem surviving here?"

She crosses her arms threateningly. "They are my memories, not yours. I'd rather you didn't."

"I have to know you, in order to claim you as mine. Do not upset me; I have the power to change them, and you wouldn't want me to do that."

"I suppose not."

Bakura likes how compliant she is; stoic and indifferent to most things. The only time he's yet to see her worked up is on the subject of death. And the one time when she kissed him out of nowhere. What had they been discussing? He would be leaving in the morning. Loss. Somethng about loss resonates with her. He thinks, if he needs to, he'll use it to his advantage. But for now, he thinks rather well of her, and turning her against him isn't exactly part of the plan. It's rather confusing; he's so used to being on negative terms wth everyone. (He's not worried about her turning against him. He's the one in control here.)

The Shadow Realm spins back to Egypt, somewhere in a village Bakura has never been before. The sun is already starting to set. Bakura looks a few years younger than at the time of his death, and Necrofear seems to be younger than before, but older than at the occurence of their encounter. (Fifteen winters, to be exact.) She wears less victory jewelry and her hair is a bit shorter. Bakura wonders how long she has been under oath.

"Is this your village?"

"The neighboring one." Necrofear scans the area. "It's getting dark. I have to get home." She walks briskly, Bakura at her heels, ignoring the various merchants she encounters. "It's a long walk, and bad things happen to unmarried girls who wander the streets at night."

"It's alright; slow down." Bakura glances around. "No one will hurt you when I'm here." And it would have sounded romantic had it not sounded so possessive. Still unsure, she slows her pace, still moving quickly. "What about your power? Shouldn't you be able to fight them off? Eh?"

"Not if I can't use my hands and voice."

Bakura knows full well that if he wanted to harm a girl, he would pin her wrists with one had and cover her mouth with the other, rendering her helpless, and understands her fears. Doesn't complain when she moves closer to him.

"Does this bother you?" she asks when her hand involuntarily clutches at the sleeve of his robe after seeing a few dangerous-looking men leer at her. Her heart is thumping.

"It's fine, but get mushy like the mortals and I'll amputate your arm."

It's awkward, their paces different, but she starts to relax. Every night has been lived in fear, and to have some sort of protection is a relief.

"The moon looks nice tonight," she points out. "I love it. It illuminates these walks. It's always safer with the moon." She turns to him. "Didn't you say the stars absolve you?"

"Girl, I am beyond absolution at this point."

"I might be, too," she sighs. "Well, not in this memory, but when you saw me about to die, I had done some pretty horrible things." She says it so calmly.

Bakura knows that they've arrived when she lets go of his sleeve and slows down. Her residence is old and modest, but livable. He realizes they are in the back entrance of a house. "We have to sneak in to avoid being seen."

"Did you kill the residents?"

"No, it's mine, but I'm supposed to be dead or a slave. No one comes in here because it's believed to be haunted." She's tall for her age, and has no problem opening a window and hoisting herself through it. "Come on in." Egyptian hospitality. Bakura knew it once, possibly exploited it once. Misses it a bit.

It's a tight fit on his part, but Bakura makes it in. The inside is organized and somewhat well-maintained, but still old. "What kind of evil do you have in here?" asks Bakura immediately.

"Not evil, just sad," says Necrofear, lighting a lamp. "There have been at least three deaths in here."

What a strange girl, thinks Bakura. Necrofear takes him to a bedroom. "This is for guests. If there's an disturbance, I apologize. I told them not to bother you, though."

"I'm not afraid of a ghost. It bothers me and I'll put it to rest."

Necrofear gives him a sharp look. "It's my older sister, and you'll do well to respect her."

Bakura shakes his head. "You'll go crazy living here with all these ghosts. How stupid are you?"

"Hypocrite," spits Necrofear. "You think I can't sense the ghosts of Kul Elna tormenting you? They're driving you mad."

"They fuel my _revenge_," retorts Bakura. "And you? Who killed her?"

Necrofear looks away, dark hair falling forward on tan skin. "She took her own life."

"Couldn't fight anymore?" snickers Bakura.

Something clicks in Necrofear. "Shut up! You don't know what she went through! Don't speak badly about her, not in my house!"

"That's shit hospitality, making me sleep in a haunted room."

Necrofear regains her composure, seething. "The whole house is haunted except my room. I can give you my room, and I'll sleep here. Okay?" She glares at him. "And get used to shit hospitality. I have no money and we have no food now. So unless you're willing to go to the market with me, because I'm not going alone, it's another hungry night."

Bakura pulls a basket out of his robe. "When you weren't looking, I stole this."

"You seem experienced, no?"

At this point, Bakura realizes tht Necrofear has no idea who he even is. His widespreading reputation hasn't reached her, or at least, she hasn't put the name ith the face. And he remembers how she didn't want to know his name at first. He decides on not revealing himself just yet and using the lack of knowldge to his advanage, somehow.

"More or less." He tosses the basket at her. "Take some."

Necrofear raises an eyebrow.

"Hospitality," he says. "You're on my side, no?"

"Mm." Accepting the gift cautiously, she takes a loaf of bread and hands the basket back. "Thank you."

Bakura grunts in acceptace. They move to the kitchen and sit at the table. Bakura finishes the rest of the basket's food voraciously and far too quickly, while Necrofear takes a more feminine (though not exactly feminine) approach to eating. It's silent, but not awkward. "Don't get used to this, though," notes Bakura. "Next time get your own food."

"Aren't you gentlemanly."

"I'm as gentlemanly as you are ladylike."

"True." Finished, she clears off the table. "This isn't an interesting memory. Now I just sleep. Tomorrow should be interesting, if you plan on staying."

"I doubt Yadonushi will be healed," Bakura snorts.

They're both worn out from the Shadow Game, so they go to sleep. She gives him her room, and sleeps in the guest room. Bakura has no trouble falling asleep, on his back, so as not to expose it. He never sleeps deeply. It's not safe to.

She, on the other hand, hasn't had a guest, much less a man, in her house for years, and the idea toys with her. She rests in the fetal position, doll across the room. The stroke of a cold hand falls on the side of her face.

"I'll avenge you," she promises again to the invisible ghost. "I promise. All of you."

Her sleep is uneasy.

* * *

><p>AN: I thought I would note that hospitality is super important in the Middle East. Even if you HATE someone, you still give the best hospitality. It's a dignity thing too.

Stoic Necrofear and irritated Bakura. So perfect togther. I promise the next chapter will pick up the pace. This was kind of filler. I name/epigraph the chapters based on the song I'm listening to...

I like keeping Necrofear at a young age. I mean, DMG looks a lot older as a Duel Monster, so I want to assume the same about Necrofear. She's old enough to be married and have kids for her time period, so it's not pedo, but at the same time the sexual tension between her and Bakura is minimal.

Also, I have fun thinking about Bakura doing mortal things like showers and sleeping. I never thought I'd write him, because it's not my strength. Look what I've gotten myself into.

Back in school, classes in a few. It will be a while before the next chapter. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and favorited! I appreciate it!

No flames, please!


	4. Sweetness

**WARNINGS: Age difference, a good amount of violence and discussion thereof, multiple murders, non-graphic evisceration and other non-graphic mutilations, implied noncon and suicide. Hawtness too. I hope that covers everything.**

_For all my awesome readers!_

Recoil

_Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?_

Bakura is rudely awoken by the sensation of an earthquake. He opens his eyes to find the house swirling with howling ghosts, shaking it to the core. "The hell?"

He clambers out of bed to where the lady of the house is, expecting her to be awake. Instead, she is still sleeping, breathing shallow, completely unaware of the noise. "HEY!"

She doesn't move. Standing at the door, Bakura takes off one of his many necklaces and hurls it at her. It hits on target, and she snaps upright. She glares at him, rubbing her arm where it hit her. "And what was that for?"

"What in the name of Ra is going on?"

Necrofear pulls her hair back and looks around at the angry spirits. "Calm down," she orders them. They don't obey. She turns to Bakura. "This happens sometimes, when they get angry." She raises her hands. "I said CALM DOWN!"

In an instant they are silent, moving slowly, encircling her. She doesn't move, even as they get closer, nearly hiding her with their white mist. "We have a guest in our presence. Don't be rude." She pets one softly. They constrict even tighter, but she doesn't resist. She addresses Bakura again. "My family doesn't exactly like you."

"That's nice," snorts Bakura. "Are they always this friendly?"

She shakes her head lightly, immobilized by a particularly forceful spirit around her neck. "They're jealous." She gently teases the one around her neck until it releases itself. "I'm not talking to you now," she tells it. It hisses at her and goes right through her. She winces slightly, and Bakura blinks to make sure he saw correctly. "Stop it," she says harshly. "Stop, little one."

"You call that thing 'little one'?" Bakura laughs. "You're deranged." (Like he as any room to speak.)

"This is one of my younger sisters," she snaps. "So yes."

"So what now, you had an older sister, and a younger one? Three of you running around? And your village is still standing? I'm impressed."

"Aren't you funny." She strokes the spirit, calming it. "Four of us. And it wasn't always like this. I wasn't always Dark Necrofear, remember? You met me before then." He sees her eyes are closed, the spirits loosening their hold, just spinning around her and he can tell she feels at home. One flies over her and she reaches her and above, stroking it with her fingertips. "There was a time when I was just a happy little girl who was going to grow up and marry a normal boy and have a normal family and die happily."

"I find that hard to believe."

"My father died of a snake bite when I was young," she continues, eyes still closed (peaceful). "It was common, but it didn't make it hurt less. That's when I became obsessed with death. That's when I learned necromancy."

"So you learned how to kill people because your father died. How charming."

"Necromancy is an art, the art of speaking to the dead. The doll over there is my medium. With the correct ritual, the spirit enters the doll and I can communicate with it. Otherwise, it just floats like this."

Bakura had to admit, the idea of speaking to the dead was an interesting one. Necromancers were hard to come by, and charged exorbitant amounts of money, and they abilities weren't exactly something he could steal. If he was still just the Thief King, he would have asked to speak to his direct family, not the angry ghosts that demanded revenge. But now, he doesn't even care. "I always thought that doll was your dead baby or something."

She laughs. "Me? Have a baby? Please, my body is probably less nurturing than Hell itself. That doll is the closest thing I'll ever have to one. Hopefully."

He likes the sound of that.

"Dark magic is different," she continues. "I learned that to protect myself."

One of the spirits suddenly gets angry at the attention she's been giving Bakura, and lets out a scream, disturbing the peaceful flow of spirits. It dives right at Bakura, who has the sense to duck, and dodge it as it comes back around. "Damn!"

"Mother! Calm down right now!" She swats at the spirit. "He's on our side." The sprits quiets surprisingly quickly. "All of you. Leave. I have a guest. I don't have time for you." Slowly, reluctantly, they spin higher and higher and disappear.

He should say thank you, he really should, but of course he feels no need to. "You have one hell of a mother."

"I know," she sighs, and as she stands up, the collar of her dress falls forward and he sees the scar around her neck. He remembers her having said something about her mother making that mark.

"Tell me," he says immediately, finding no need for manners. "What did she do right there?"

Necrofear pulls her dress back up. "I already told you last time we met."

"Refresh my memory." He remembers how she couldn't talk about it in first person still, even though it had been years, and she still hadn't come to terms with it.

"There was a happy little girl," says Necrofear, "who was obsessed with death who wanted nothing more than to speak to her father. Her village came under siege by the Pharaoh's men, who intended to use them as slaves to build the next pyramid. It was the second time during the mother's life, and she wouldn't let her daughters become slaves. So this happy little girl watched her mother go mad and cut her little sisters' throats. And then her mother tried to kill her too. So there," she says bitterly. "I still remember everything you told me of Kul Elna."

And while the Zork in him couldn't care less, the Thief King feels like he's been struck in the face. The Thief King had always been strong and solid and cold, but that was because he was alone. And suddenly, the knowledge that he's not alone… is rather disconcerting and invalidates his mission. But at the same time, he can't help but feel a little sympathetic. Just a little, because the Thief King is still, deep down, that little white-haired boy who shook in horror and premature disillusionment as he watched his own family slaughtered.

He can't imagine his own mother holding a knife to his throat.

But Zork can, and does a fantastic job, which horrifies the Thief King, sends him into shock. All Necrofear sees is Bakura trembling, watches him as he lifts a finger to his neck where her scar would be, and traces it. Stands still as he finally enters her bedroom (breaking any sense of propriety between an unmarried man and woman—not like she ever cared, though). The silence is loaded, but peaceful, and there's something unspoken that between them, like on the first night they met.

He reaches out his hands, and without even bothering to wait for permission, touches her scar (not bothering to be delicate); runs his fingers across it. She shivers, because she's never let anyone touch it before (has never been touched by a man. It feels almost like an invasion.)

"Does it hurt?" he asks, genuinely (stupidly), almost in a trance (in the moment).

"No."

"Did it?"

She resists the urge to snap the obvious. "Yes." _A_ _lot_.

But of course the darkness always returns, and breaks the magic. Bakura withdraws his hand coolly and looks at her with indifference. "Life is full of pain."

"You say it as if I didn't know that." She smiles gently, but with a cocky edge. "There is pain, but we must put it behind us and fight on." A pause. "Like today. This is a nice memory. You get to see me avenge my older sister."

"I thought you said she killed herself."

Necrofear gives him a look that lets him know she's not interested in discussing the matter, and he'll know everything he needs to know in time. He's one to push, but not that much. It will be more entertaining, he tells himself, imagining what vengeance tastes like.

* * *

><p>It's just a walk to the neighboring village, where it's lively, but Bakura can sense the evil just seeping out of the villagers. They're darker than they appear to be.<p>

"Stay back," she says. "I need to be unprotected to lure them out."

And he only listens to her because he knows she speaks the truth. And he doesn't think it's a fantastic idea for her to walk unprotected in a dark alley, but then again, he's seen what she can do on the field and doesn't worry. The first shock of light, and he knows she's got them. He walks over hastily, not wanting to miss any of the action.

There are five of them, troublemaking bandits or something along those lines. Dangerous young men who should be taken very seriously. Dangerous young men who are all muscle and no magic, clearly, because she's used some kind of dark magic to bind them all, with one pinned against the wall. He sees the rage in her eyes, something he's yet to see outside of the battlefield, the sheer lack of humanity as she slams his head against the wall. "Remember me?" she hisses.

"No, you whore, I don't keep track of them," he shouts.

She bashes his head again. "Call me a whore again, you—"

"Damn whore!"

Bam. This time there's a nice stain of blood on the wall, and he groans. "I'll have you begging for your death, _khara-kleb_."

"Bitch!"

A sock to the jaw hard enough for him to spit out blood.

"Hey," she turns to Bakura, not really knowing how to address him. He's not exactly a stranger anymore. "How would you like a better view? Come closer. Feel free to laugh at this _bint sharmouta_."

"You're going to regret those words, whore!"

She throws him on the ground, and before he can get up, puts her foot against his forehead (probably giving him a nice view). "Would you call me that if I was a man? Because I'm going to kill you like I'm one." She bends down to him, glaring at him in the eyes. "Do I look familiar?"

His eyes grow in shock. "Nafrini?"

"Heh heh heh." Face slammed in the ground. "Happy to see me?" Arms tied back harshly with magic. Her voice grows even angrier. A kick to the stomach. "And I won't rest until you're all dead."

"Heh," he snarls. "You were fun the first time, and once I break out of this, I'm sure you'll scream even louder." He's on his back now, legs and arms tied, and she had no problem getting on all fours, hovering over him. (Of course Bakura's mind wanders ever so slightly.) "What, you're going to have your way with me? You can just ask."

"Shut up." She knees him, and he groans. She puts her hands over his eyes, and suddenly he's overwhelmed in a realistic world of everything horrifying, some things he knows and others he doesn't. He screams. He can't help it. She doesn't like his voice, and a gag appears around his mouth.

The dark magic lashes at his skin in superficial but painful cuts that come deeper and deeper each time, until they draw blood. Little pink hairline fractures in his skin turn into gashes, deep, all over his body, coming too fast, the pain setting in with a delayed reaction. It's agonizing. He screams again. The cuts get even deeper, into his muscles, into his bones, rendering them fragile, shattering their core. It's unbearable, and he's almost gone numb (bone marrow exposed a bit). He sees himself covered in crawling cockroaches and snakes, and claws at his heavily lacerated skin to get them off. (Praise be to the gag.)

"Had enough?" One step on his damaged arm and it cracks. The other arm. Then the femur. The other femur. He's in so much pain at this point, he might as well die. He's thrashing like mad.

A knife is brandished.

"Would you like to see your intestines?" she growls. "Or should I kill you first?"

"Draw it out!" snarls Bakura. "Make him really scream!" Even though there's the gag.

"No," she says. "He doesn't deserve an elaborate death. He'll die stupidly and dishonorably. All his life has turned to shit at my hands." She kicks him. "Worthless shit." He's already in so much pain from the broken femurs that it really doesn't mean much to him. A sharp blade across his abdominal area, and he's screaming into the gag from sensory overload. The blood soaks her dress, but she doesn't care. She continues to cut at the insides, and at some point he dies, though she's not paying attention until he's completely desecrated. Bakura notices she's not very experienced with evisceration. He'll have to teach her.

With the darkest voice Bakura has ever heard from her, she leans over him, grinning madly. "_This won't hurt a bit." _One slice at his throat, and she's done with him.

"Who wants to be next?"

They shake their heads.

"You're all pathetic," she sneers. "At least I gave him something to brave."

She doesn't feel like giving them anything, so she just keeps them tied down and slits their throats. It's simple, really, and quick. She leaves one of them untouched, for the moment.

"Congratulations." The word hangs with venom. "You get to live." But it doesn't seem like it, as she clambers over him, knife in hand, and lifts his shirt. With the blade, she etches into his torso a large NAFRINI (all while he thrashes horribly, drawing it in deeper). "Go and tell them all, that if any one of them ever dishonors a woman again, he will lose his life."

No words are necessary. He runs for his life.

Bakura's arms are crossed, and he's been grinning madly the whole time. "Where the hell did this come from?" He's very pleased. "Nafrini, is it?"

She turns around, looking positively insane, just as insane as he does. "Hello there. I'm Dark Necrofear. Lovely to meet you." She licks the knife. He realizes, this is the point of no return. He knows she's killed before, but not like this. She's never done something this morbid or awful, but now she's capable of anything. She isn't a young girl from the desert in search of absolution and sanctuary. She is _Dark Necrofear_. "Nafrini is my older sister. It was sweeter watching them think I was her."

He laughs. She's wonderful, he thinks, and he can't help but release a deep, devilish laugh free of all rationality, drinking in the sight of the three-dead-and-one-eviscerated, with her still crouched down. She walks over to the three men non-eviscerated men, rummages through their pockets, and takes all their money. A devilish glimmer in her eye. "Tonight, we feast!"

Part of him is jealous, impatient to feel that way. Feel the victory, be short of breath and sweaty and glowing like she is. But as her owner, he can't help but feel proud. Very proud. "How does it feel? Revenge."

"Incredible," she sighs. In that moment, he can't help but think she's Ra-damned gorgeous; blood all over her, with the same delicate facial features and narrow figure she's always had (even on the card), all so misleading with the wrath in her eyes.

"I wonder what it tastes like…" He smirks and pushes her hair back and leans in and just… _kisses_ her. Because honestly, he just feels like it. And she would have been to shocked to do anything but all that murder has got her running on primal instinct, and she doesn't hesitate to kiss back. It's hot and slick and smells of blood; practically pulling out hair; tongues slipping and sliding and fighting for something they don't know what.

At some point, they have to breathe.

"Ra," whispers Bakura, licking his lower lip.

She just smiles, and he doesn't notice the slight tremors (maybe because she's just made her biggest kill, or maybe because it's only the second time she's been kissed and she feels like her skin is on fire.) "Let's go."

That night, they eat like royalty in the villages' best restaurant (becase like hell she's going to cook). They spend hours just ordering food, and stay there to talk, and then stay for dinner. He's used to it, but she's not the best thief, and it's a luxury for her. "Let's kill more often," she whispers across the table. "I like this. I haven't eaten this well in months."

"You have the appetite of a grown man. Can't you act like a proper young woman?" says Bakura. They look at each other and crack up.

"I'm so tired," she says. "I hate that. I need to work on my stamina."

Bakura nods. "It's important to be self-critical. It will make you stronger." The stronger, the better, for him.

She's wearing his cloak, because of the blood on her dress and they're trying not to arouse suspicion. He's already well-known in many places. This place has the oil lamps dimmed low, though, so no one really notices him. As long as they pay, the people who work there don't care.

They pay and leave. It's cold (like desert nights are always). She holds his cloak against her as they walk back home. He wishes he had his horse; it would make these walks shorter. Tonight, he sees she doesn't carry herself with fear like the night before. He assumes that what happened to her sister was the reason she was afraid of the nights. But only mortals are afraid of the night. Little girls who have been victimized are afraid of the night. Dark Necrofear is not afraid of anything.

When she sneaks in to her house, she is immediately greeted by a spirit, which takes on the ephemeral shape of a female not much unlike herself. The spirit just holds her, kissing her face in silent thank-yous.

"Anything for you," sighs Necrofear, holding her sister's face in her hands and looking her in the eyes. "You may rest."

Bakura watches as her sister's spirit smiles peacefully and just disappears into thin air. The bedroom won't be haunted anymore.

"You're fantastic, you know that?" says Bakura languidly, staring at her.

"Or so I've heard." She leans against him and yawns. "I like you. I think you should just stay here with me in these memories."

He takes the liberty of curiously playing with her hair. "Once I finish my revenge and you finish yours, we'll have no obligations."

"Good," she says tiredly. "I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up. Even in I sleep past noon." She walks over to _her_ room, which she hasn't occupied in a night, and offers Bakura the more elaborate guest bedroom. He takes it without complaint.

That night he dreams of revenge and how sweet (delicious and death-flavored) it is.

She doesn't dream.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh goodness. I hate writing violence. I hate violence. It's my weakness. I hate this chapter. People, please don't kill others. Or hurt them. Talk it out. Please don't be like Dark Necrofear and kill people. Ugh. This chapter was so hard to write. I HATE violence. She slits their throats because it's what happened to her. It's a horrible way of coping. People, do NOT follow her example. I'm so disgusted right now. Also, don't rape people. Or she'll kill you.

I read a very interesting article in TIME magazine once about this culture in which a girl was gang-raped as punishment for something her brother did. The standard afterwards was for a woman to kill herself because of the dishonor. In the article, the girl refused to kill herself and started a nonprofit. Pretty boss, if you ask me.

Totally cheated. That's Lebanese Arabic, not Egyptian. She basically called him a piece of dog shit (which is like a HUGE insult in Middle Eastern culture.) Then daughter of a bitch. She's fun. If anyone has read Toni Morrison's _Beloved_… that should answer a lot of questions.

Necrofear paid for the dinner date, in case you were wondering. (I'm sure there were restaurants back then, but not like modern day restaurants. Just indoor places where others cooked and you paid for both the food and service. I honestly don't care for historical accuracy. Don't expect it.)

Thanks to all my kind reviewers! Also, Kanashii Umi (still won't let me put the period in there) did a beautiful fanart for this fic! Link on my profile!

I hope to include: A field trip to Kul Elna (Because idk about you but I want more Bakura), a detailed reenactment of their first encounter. We're moving in reverse chronology. Their relationship progress is so weird...


	5. Cherry Waves Redux

**WARNINGS: Too romantic for my tastes, small makeout sesh, mild violence and language, age difference as usual.**

**[EDIT: As of 1/22/12, this chapter has been edited. No more makeout sesh, among other things. Ignore that warning.]**

_For those who believe in me…_

Recoil

_If the waves suck you in, and you drown, I would swim down. Would you?_

Bakura has always been a light sleeper, because it's much safer that way, and sits up immediately at the sound of footsteps. He's still not used to his new location and finds himself disoriented for a minute, before he remembers he's in the guest bedroom, with only the moonlight to illuminate it. Necrofear is leaning against the doorframe, still in his cloak, and judging from the way she's holding it around her, he guesses she's not wearing her bloodstained dress anymore. Not that he blames her.

"Hey," she says quietly, not apologizing for waking him up at this unearthly hour. (He's finding that being awoken at unearthly hours seems to be a regular trend in this place.) "I can't sleep."

"Not my problem."

"You're in my house, so I'm making it your problem," she says, a humorous edge to her voice.

"Shit hospitality."

"I told you to get used to it."

"Go away."

She does the exact opposite and crosses into the room and sits on the edge of his bed, not caring about social rules at this point. "I can't sleep," she repeats.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" grumbles Bakura.

She looks at his face, watches how the moonlight illuminates it, traces it with her eyes. (Sitting up, he's still a bit taller than her.) He's beautiful, all angles with deadly lavender eyes and shocking white hair, and the scar… she's noticed it, but now she really sees it because she's actually looking.

"Did that hurt?" she asks.

"Did what hurt?"

"Your scar." She raises her hand but doesn't touch him, because she knows how uncomfortable it was for him to feel hers and she at least has a modicum of respect for her guests. He doesn't show any sign of resistance, so she gently places her hand on his cheek and traces it curiously. He doesn't move; he can't remember the last time he's had someone touch him so gently or look into his eyes with such emptiness and curiosity at the same time. He still can't comprehend that such a creature of darkness can even _be_ gentle.

"Go away," he repeats halfheartedly. And he knows if he really wanted her to leave, he would have made himself clear and she would have understood and she wouldn't have thought twice before listening to him. He only lets her touch him, only gives her that bit of trust because in the end, _he's_ the one in control, and that's the only way he ever comes close to trusting anyone. (Lets her touch him because it's a rarity and it feels nice.)

She ignores him, and continues to run her fingers over it. "How'd you get it?"

"None of your business."

To his surprise, instead of insisting, she smiles bitterly and gently kisses the scar, the tip of her delicate nose against his eyelashes. He freezes and his spine jolts, because no one has _ever_ done that to him, not in his entire life. Not like that. (There was once a time when he was still learning to be a thief and was understanding the changes in himself and his body and his needs and desires and acted on them… that was an experimental phase that ended long before he met her… when the lustful and empty kisses of harlots meant nothing…) Almost no one has ever dared to touch his scar, and it's still tingling from the feathery touches of her fingertips, and now _this_…

Half a second and she pulls back, but it seems like it lasted forever. Bakura's eyes are open in surprise, and even though her lips were cold, he still feels them burning against his skin. She notices his expression and smiles. "It'll be the last scar," she says, irrational eyes looking right through him. "I'll destroy anyone who gets in my way without even thinking; I'll tear them limb from limb until they're begging for death."

He just gives her the standard Bakura expression: indifferent apathy on the surface, gears turning underneath. "I'm aware of your nature."

"You're on my side, too."

"I'm not on a 'side.'"

"We have a common enemy. You know what they say: my enemy's enemy is my ally."

"Ally?" asks Bakura darkly. "Sorry, dear, but I don't form alliances. I'm independent, in case you haven't noticed and always looking out for you isn't in my best interest."

He expects her to be hurt, like one of the poor mortals would be, but she's not. Tough girl. Stoic. "You said I was your property," she says with ease. "You don't take good care of your property?"

"I will destroy anyone who touches it," he says honestly.

"So you'll destroy anyone who tries to hurt me."

"I would suppose so."

"And I've already committed myself to protecting you when I accepted you."

"And?"

"Doesn't that make us allies?" she asks with a little smirk. "I'm more to you than just a card in a game, right?"

Bakura doesn't say anything for a minute. The darkness cannot love, cannot return whatever she may be feeling. But the darkness has an affinity, because if it didn't, it would simply exist _sui generis_ in its emptiness. The darkness is attracted, painfully attracted to things like lust and anger and greed and hatred and death. And when the darkness is still with death itself sitting on the edge of his bed, face tingling from the touch of her lips, he knows she's more than a card.

And the darkness is shameless.

"In and of yourself, you are more than a card in a game. I wouldn't make the mistake of reducing you like that." A grin.

A satisfied smile in return. "I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you."

"I can take care of myself. I'd say it's you who needs protection."

"I know."

The darkness is hatred and pain and agony and angst, but in the stillness of it all, it is what the light is not; it is enchanting and tender and poignant. And death… Death is foreign and forbidden and enticing and frightening and addicting. The darkness has an affinity for death and death finds itself in the darkness.

"Do you trust me?" she asks.

"I trust you to be on my side for the time being; however, I doubt that you would be unconditionally loyal if you were a human and not one of my possessions. Why, do you trust me?"

"I trust that as one of your possessions, you will protect me from outside forces, but I do not trust you not to hurt me should the desire arise."

"Smart girl."

It's a shaky barely-trust, but it's more than either of them have been able to comfortably feel, and it's nice.

"You haven't hurt me yet," she notes. "Not really."

"It wouldn't be in my best interest to. I need you strong and well."

"My body is so tired, but I can't sleep, Ra-damnit." She leans against him. It's a strange feeling, like feeling... _safe_... no, that can't be it. She'll need to get used to it, but it's not a bad feeling. She doesn't feel fully safe, because she knows he can hurt her, but it's more familiar this way. She might not bear it if there wasn't the threat of damage.

"That will happen after your first few major kills," he says matter-of-factly.

"I think we should be allies," she says absently. "I think we'd be perfect together."

"I'm perfect as it is."

"And obnoxious."

"Rightfully so."

"No wonder you've never had any other ally. No one else is going to put up with you like I do."

"There is truth in your words."

She's not going to wait for his answer, and stands up slowly, not wanting to break the magic in the stillness. "I'll be down at the river if you need me."

"I won't."

"Less hassle for me." She smiles lightly.

"I hope you're wearing an underskirt," he says. "Or you better wash my cloak before you give it back."

"I am," she says, and walks away, leaving him with a head full of hand grenades.

* * *

><p>She carries the bloodstained dress down to the banks. It's a warmer night tonight, the river is peaceful under the stars. As least, as steps into the knee-high water, she's safe here. How odd. Last night she was afraid. Here, no one can see her. In only a short white skirt (the ancient equivalent to underwear), red cloak tied up like a shirt, she tries to wash the blood out. It's too late, and the serum has left a yellow stain on it.<p>

She's done this before, though, and knows what she's doing. She rests the dress on the grass and smothers the stain in red and green herbs, letting them soak in the serum. Something about dried citrus and grass removes blood like nothing else.

It needs time to soak in, so she sits on the bank and stares at the stars. The sun should come up in an hour or two, she knows. How long has she been unable to sleep? She still feels his hands on her, the taste of him on her teeth, and yes, maybe insomnia isn't a bad thing. But it's rather confusing.

She thinks about her killing adventure. Something should feel wrong. She killed with desire. She enjoyed it. Anyone else would be horrified. But for her, she feels… at home. Like everything has fallen into place. Like she should have done this a long time ago. It just felt right. Like every feeling except hatred and disgust was slipping from her. (Well, except for Bakura. She couldn't hate him, even though sometimes she wanted to give him a piece of her mind.)

Half an hour she waits in silence and emptiness, just watching the stars, making patterns with them. They look like the most random objects; a spoon, a bird, an ankh.

_I don't want to think anymore._

She puts the dress back in the water and rinses the herbs away. In the night, she can't tell if there's still a faint stain or not, but she doesn't see one. Good. An hour later, she's still sitting on the riverbank in his cloak, feet in in the water (not splashing, though), still staring at the stars.

"You're asking to get assaulted."

She turns around. Bakura's leaning against a tree.

"I thought you wanted to sleep."

"I did," he says. "But I detect the presence of another spirit in my host's mind and I'm going to take care of it."

She sighs. "That boy's mind is overcrowded."

"I don't care."

"You came to say goodbye?" She raises an eyebrow. "I know you're not courteous like that."

"I'm not," he smirks. "I'm here to tell you there might be another Shadow Game in the near future, so be prepared. I've learned that my monsters perform better if they're not in shock or surprise. Do not mistake my notice for an act of kindness."

"I'd never consider you kind-hearted." She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "But keep giving me introductions like you did last time, and I might say you're fond of me."

"You're precious," he says sarcastically. "I underestimated the pharaoh last time. If something goes wrong again, it better not be on your account."

"Would I ever betray you?"

"I wouldn't think so," he says darkly. "But tell me, would you choose to fight on my side if you weren't my property? Of your own free will?" Another trust question.

"Yes," she says emptily.

"I don't believe that."

A grin, reaching from ear to ear, takes over her face, the glimmer of darkness and insanity he had seen when she killed those men reappearing. "You're a lot smarter than you look."

"The hell does that mean?" He tugs at the cloak. "Give me my damn clothes back."

She shrugs and takes the cloak off, (covering her chest with the still-wet white dress), and hands it back. "How do you function in something like this? It's so cumbersome. Armor is much more functional."

"Skill," he says. "_I_ can look _good_ while doing my job well."

She gives him a dirty look. "I know an insult when I hear one."

He grins. "I like you."

She says nothing, but lets him leave. He forgets to turn the Shadow Realm back to normal.

* * *

><p>And in summary, Malik's had a change of plans, since Bakura couldn't take Yugi's God Card. Bakura's upset now, because he had been looking forward to receiving the Millennium Rod. And now Malik wants to ask another favor? Have Bakura duel his darker half? Like hell.<p>

But Bakura does it, because he made a deal with Malik, another hater of the Pharaoh (did that make him an ally?), and was intent on doing whatever he could to get the Millennium Items. The force of Zork is strong, strong enough to make him drop his pride and continue working with Malik.

But Dark Malik is stronger (Bakura really doesn't like him), and stupid Malik Ishtar didn't know all of Ra's abilities. Which makes no sense to Bakura, because they're the same person. He has to give Malik a bit of respect for having the guts to face his darker half; he knows (predicts) how terrified Ryou would be if they ever came face to face. Oh no, they did that one time at Duelist Island, and Ryou defied him—the ungrateful brat. But only because he had friends to support him.

Huh. Malik has Bakura. Not alone. Maybe Bakura doesn't respect him so much after all. This whole self-justification thing doesn't appeal to Bakura in the least.

And Bakura's monsters fight a brave battle, and Necrofear doesn't make a sound when she gets hit and goes to the graveyard.

But Dark Malik wins. The cocky bastard wins, and Bakura finds himself back in the Shadow Realm far too quickly for his liking. And to his surprise, he had forgotten (though he rarely forgot _anything_) the Shadow Realm stuck in Necrofear's memories, and finds himself face-to-face with a very angry fourteen-year old girl in the deserted corner of a village.

"The hell did you leave me like this for?" she asks. "One minute I'm here, the next I'm dueling, and then I'm back here! Do you _know_ how strange time regression is?"

"Oh, excuse me," says Bakura smoothly, "I must have forgotten."

"Change it back, then."

"And what if I don't want to?"

"Ugh."

"Excuse me?" comes a soft voice. Bakura and Necrofear look down to see a white-haired boy in jeans and a striped T-shirt on the ground. He's tired, and is clutching his arm.

"Yadonushi? How the hell did you get here?"

"Oh, so this is the pathetic boy you keep rambling about," says Necrofear coolly. "Do I let him live?"

"YOU!" shouts Ryou, glaring at Bakura. "You're the spirit of the Millenium Ring!" And in an instant, Ryou has lunged himself at Bakura, tackling him and assaulting him for all it's worth. It only works because initially Bakura is too surprised to do anything, but once he snaps back to reality, it takes one blow to the stomach to send Ryou flying back, clutching the site of impact.

"I hate you," seethes Ryou. "Now tell me where I am and what happened to my friends!"

"Your friends are fine, you insolent brat," says Bakura. "We're in the Shadow Realm. Somehow our body ended up here with our minds."

"Don't say _our_ like it's yours!" shouts Ryou. "It's mine, you're just invading it. And this does _not_ look like the Shadow Realm."

"We're in my memories," says Necrofear bitterly. "Because he insists on it."

Ryou looks at her cautiously, trying to determine if she's a friend or foe. "Um… not to be rude, but who are you?"

She gives him a dark look, eyes narrowed, and then slaps him across the face.

"What was that for?"

She lifts him by the collar of his shirt. "Idiot boy! I've been in your deck, saving your sorry ass for long enough! And you can't even recognize me?"

"Deck?" His eyes widen in recognition. "Dark Necrofear?"

"You're not as stupid as you look, boy."

"My name is Ryou!" protests Ryou. "Not 'boy.' You're on his side, aren't you?"

She looks at Bakura.

_I don't form alliances_.

"More or less, as far as I am obliged to be." She lets Ryou down. "And you are allied with the Pharaoh?"

"Refresh me," says Ryou bitterly. "I've been out cold for most of Battle City." He gives Bakura a dirty look.

"The midget with the ridiculous haircut!" says Bakura. "Not like yours is better, like a girl, but at least it doesn't defy gravity."

Did Necrofear just… _giggle_?

Bakura looks at her strangely.

"I'm fourteen right now," she says. "Expect me to act like it."

"Yes, I'm on Yugi's side," snaps Ryou. "He's not out trying to hurt people."

"Because he's had his fair share!" shouts Necrofear. Bakura raises his hand to silence her. She looks at him. "You mean your host doesn't know?"

"No," says Bakura darkly, "and it's going to stay that way."

"Know what?" asks a bitter Ryou.

"Maybe if you told him, he might be sympathetic and become an asset and not an obstacle."

"Don't talk about me like I'm an object!" Ryou clenches his fists. "I'm always stuck in these goddamn situations because of you, Spirit."

"Not yet," Bakura tells her. "I don't want to."

"Suit yourself."

"What do we do now?" asks Ryou, calming down. "How long are we stuck here?"

"Until Dark Malik is defeated," grumbles Bakura. "Our body is here, so I can only leave in spirit. Which, by the way, should explain where Malik is." He loves to see Ryou's discomfort and tells him, "he's possessing the body of your friend Anzu now to maneuver his way around the blimp. I must say, his determination is respectable."

"My life is ridiculous!" complains Ryou, grabbing his hair. "My God, Spirit, the crap you put everyone through!"

"Malik this time," snort Bakura. "I'm sure you two would make great friends." He lets the words roll on his tongue, knowing that the fleeting word _friends_ means to Yadonushi.

"How can you side with him?" Ryou asks Necrofear. "He's impossible, not to mention a dark spirit!"

"And what am I?" she asks sharply. Ryou falls silent. "Well, this memory isn't going to relive itself." She turns around and walks away from the village, into the empty desert. It seems she knows her way around it.

And suddenly Bakura's gone.

"Where'd he go?" She turns around quickly. "What did you do?" she asks Ryou.

"Me? I have no idea how things work around here!"

She grabs Ryou's wrist. "Stay close. This isn't a place for mortals and if you get hurt, your Spirit or whatever you call him will be very upset. And not have a body."

Ryou nods, gulping. His life is insane.

* * *

><p>And Bakura's separated from them. "The hell?" he asks, looking around in frustration. "Where did those two go?"<p>

He's in the middle of a desert, and he can sense a dark presence in it. This is familiar, but he can't remember why. He walks forward, like he knows exactly where he's going, and he feels the darkness approaching. He doesn't trust it. He's got Diabound ready (he'd almost forgotten about it) just in case. He's not worried about Necrofear, wherever she is, because he trusts her to hold her own, but Yadonushi is weak here, and their _body_ is here; if anything were to happen to it…

He continues walking, confident. There's a tent in the distance, a cheaply made yet decently built one with a small fire, and a figure in front of it. The source of dark energy. Could this be another of the Pharaoh's members, working on a preliminary dark ritual, like the one for the Millennium Items? He doesn't know why but he _can't stop walking _towards it. He keeps his calm, changing his angle to end up behind the tent to get a better observation of the threat. He can _feel_ the dark energy.

And after careful treading, he's there, Diabound invisibly keeping guard. The figure is still sitting in front of the fire, moving slightly, but the way the light falls on it, he can't tell anything about it except that it's human.

He stands behind the tent. Someone's in the tent, sleeping or at least lying still. A couple of vagabonds? No, not with this energy. Something serious. A threat.

The person in the tent sits up and makes a muffled noise, and the figure next to the fire stands up, brandishing a _knife_, and heads swiftly towards Bakura. In an instant, he's jumped out and pinned down the person, wrists in one hand (avoiding the knife), covering the figure's mouth with the other. And once it stops struggling, he actually bothers to look at his victim.

"Dark Necrofear?"

Feeling testy, she actually licks his hand. He makes a face and removes it, but keeps her wrists held. She smiles oddly. "Hello, stranger."

"Stranger? I'll have you know I'm—"

"Don't." Her voice is chilling as the air. "I don't want to know who you are. I won't tell you who I am, either."

"And why's that?"

"Because it makes it easier for us to think of each other as people, and not victim of fate."

It hits him. Hits him _hard_.

* * *

><p>AN: Serum is the stuff in blood that's yellow. Like when you get a blister? It's serum. No red blood cells. So it's not red. Yeah. Best explanation ever.

I hate leaving it at a cliffhanger. I didn't want to just write an emotional make-out session and leave it at that. I'm rather disgusted with the romance, to be honest. It's cute but… I'm not a romantic person (why am I writing this?)

More amazing fanart by Kanashii Umi! It's the scene from chapter 4. If the link's not on my profile when you read this, it will be soon! (I love my fanart…)

FANSERVICE

Dear Yadonushi,

C*ckblock and you die.

Love, The Spirit of the Millenium Ring

Thanks to everyone who has added this to their favorites and alert lists! Since I have anonymous reviews turned off for now, I get few reviews, so if you have an account and you like this, PLEASE review! It means a lot, and it will encourage me to update.


	6. Tainted

**WARNINGS: Language, makeout fest for real this time. Age difference as usual.**

**[NOTE: I edited Chapter 5 as of 1/22/12! Go back and reread it if you haven't! I just mostly took out some romance since there's a good amount here.]**

Recoil

_It's not a question of why and if she'll make it; it's more a question of when and how she'll take it._

It hits him. It hits him _hard_.

She knows by the look of shock and realization on his face. Sees the dark glow around him disappear. (He even feels a bit lighter, can't believe that Zork is gone. Knows that it's because it's her only memory of him, and Zork wasn't in the picture. He's still watching over them right now, but he's liberated Bakura for the time being. It feels strange.)

"Stop," she protests from under him. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Like what?"

"Like _this_," she says. "Young and weak and impressionable. You'll lose all respect for me as a monster."

He doesn't say anything, but looks at her with new eyes. Not those of Yami no Bakura, but those of the Thief King. Zork is out of his system. He's a human now. A human in contact with another human. Is she human? Now she is, he concludes. He thinks he likes her better like this.

"What's a young girl like you doing alone in the desert?" he asks. "And what's this dark energy? I can sense it from very far away." His eyes narrow. "I don't trust it."

"Let go. You're bruising my wrists."

"No." It's a near-perfect re-enactment, he realizes. He couldn't let go if he wanted to. "You have a knife pointing at me. I don't appreciate that."

"You'll have to excuse me for feeling the need to defend myself against a grown man assaulting me," she snarls. "Now let go." She inches her knee threateningly to somewhere forbidden, and he responds by pinning it down with his leg.

"I only assaulted you because you came at me with the knife." He tightens his grip, strong fingers around her thin yet solid wrists. "Give me one reason to let you go. Give me one reason not to kill you or steal your belongings or have my way with you."

"Heh," she laughs. "I never thought any of my fears would be so beautiful in person."

"Are you complimenting me?" he asks sharply. "I don't want it."

"Yeah," she says. "But if you're going to anything to me, it's only fair you give me a fighting chance. It would be cowardly to take advantage of me like this."

He loosens his grip. "You speak with the honor of a man. Who are you?"

She buries her cheek in the sand. "I told you, I'm not telling you. You'll find out in due time. I don't want you to treat me for my identity, but just as a person. It's nicer."

"Do you even know who I am?" he asks. "Who do you think?"

"A noble," she guesses. "You seem rich as hell. But don't tell me if you work for the Pharaoh. It would piss me off and it might ruin the whole no-identity thing."

"Feh," he snarls. "Don't ever associate me with that scoundrel. I hate the Pharaoh. He is my enemy until I die. And I won't die until I put him to rest."

"That makes two of us," she smiles. "Is that enough of a reason for you not to harm me? Because we have the same enemy?"

He thinks for a minute. "I suppose it does, girl." He lets go of her, keeping an eye on the knife. She throws it back in the tent. "What's a young woman like you doing, having mortal enemies? Shouldn't you be at home with your husband and children?"

"Who said I was married?" she spits. "As nice as it would be, I don't have time for that. Isn't your family expecting you home?"

"And who said _I_ was married?" he smirks. "My lifestyle doesn't accommodate the weak."

"Not all women are weak," she says harshly. "Find a strong one."

"Too much trouble when they think for themselves. I don't need more conflict in my life. Especially if it involves a conflict of interest."

"So you understand," she nods. "Why do _you _hate the Pharaoh?"

"Long story," he says quickly.

"So stay for dinner."

Bakura chokes on his own saliva. "What?"

She points to the fire. "I'm making dinner, and I wouldn't mind company. You can tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine. I don't know who you are, so I can never use it against you. Same with me."

"I can't take your food," he says. "I have too much honor to take food from a young woman. I'll get my own."

She raises an eyebrow. "Have you never heard of hospitality? From one lost soul to another."

He hesitates. "Fine. Just a little."

They eat in silence at first. Normally he'd steal everything he could, but she's on his side. He won't dishonor her like that. He realizes for a minute, that even though company is strange, it's rather nice. He doesn't trust her, he can't trust very easily, but as far as he knows, she's unarmed, on his side, and a decent cook. He's grown accustomed to loneliness. Of course he's bitter and angry.

Of course he's in a better mood with her. She's not out to kill him.

Maybe, he thinks, she's a genius for not asking who he is. Maybe for one night, it's not to love as an outlaw with a bounty on his head.

Maybe it's nice just to be another person.

"You're not innocent," he says. "You can't be, living like this. Not with that dark energy."

"A clever observation," she notes.

"You've killed," he says. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I have," she agrees. "Not without reservation, but yes, I have. And I can tell you have too."

"I have."

Silence.

"Would you like to see my greatest treasure?" she asks.

"Of course." And it's going to take everything in his power not to steal it from her, he thinks. Until he sees what it is: a broken doll. Nothing worth stealing. It's rather large, undoubtedly expensive at one point, but now has no resale value. The joints move. It's almost like a small mannequin. "That thing? Why?"

"It's my sisters'" she says softly. "It's all I have right now to remember them by."

"Oh dear," he mutters. Another one with a death in the family. He wonders if the Pharaoh is also responsible for this. "What happened to them?" He doesn't care to be sensitive.

"They're dead, obviously."

"Obviously. How?"

"My mother."

He spits out the skewered lamb. "Your _mother_?"

"Yes. My mother."

"Why?"

"Because once…" she falls silent. He can see her struggling. Then she smiles victoriously. "I."

"I?"

"I." It's a sign that she's going to speak in first person now. It's not like the memory, but she's stronger now. He wonders if he's done her any good. "I lived with them. _My_ sisters. _My_ mother. And the Pharaoh was to enslave my entire village to build the Pyramids. It was the second time in my mother's life, and she wasn't about to put up with it. So she killed them, tried to kill me, took me for dead, and then took her own life. Look." She pulls down the collar of her dress. "She marked our throats."

"That's not easy," he says quietly. Especially after watching his family killed at the hands of enemies. It would be completely different if his own family had tried to kill him. Not harder, per se, but he can't process it. Oh God, is she about to cry? He hates it when girls cry. "Talk about something happy. Talk about your sisters."

"I'm not going to cry," she says, almost reading his mind. "I don't get why men freak out when women cry."

"Because it makes us feel like we did something wrong," he explains, frustrated. "It's not an issue in my case, because I hate almost everyone, but I would always panic if my mom or female relatives and friends cried. If you cry I'm going to get up and leave, I swear."

"I'm not going to cry," she repeats. "I'm done crying. I'm.. I'm just DONE!" She pounds a fist into the sand.

"Sisters," he says, panicked. "Tell me about them."

"Fine," she seethes. "Fine, fine… I love them?" She shrugs. "I didn't know my older one very much, she left this world when I was young, but my little ones… I promised I would protect them the way my older one never protected me. I had to be strong for them. We would run around and play with brooms as swords and get yelled at. There was this nice boy, one of the merchants' sons, who would sneak his mother's for us to play with. He refused to fight me because I was a girl, so one day I attacked him and he had to defend himself. I beat him." She laughs. "I think I can be too aggressive sometimes."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Was he upset?"

"Oh, yeah. More than I would have expected. He didn't talk to me for days, and when I finally confronted him, he said it was because he couldn't have his prospective wife be stronger. I think I nearly died of shock when he said that. I didn't know he liked me like that."

Bakura has to smile. It's kind of cute, he thinks. Cute. It's not something he'd say with Zork in him, but he knows cute. Knows his own family and childhood and first crush. Yes, it's trivial, but this whole night, this meal, this strange girl, it's all trivial. Maybe tonight is just about accepting the trivialities of life.

"And?" he asks, smiling.

"I kind of liked him too." She interrupts herself. "This is so stupid, I swear. Ridiculous. I'm sure you're laughing at me in your head. You're not going to take me seriously again."

"Keep talking."

"Fine," she sighs. "And then we talked about it, and promised when we became old enough, we would get married. He asked me why I didn't wear ribbons in my hair like other girls, and I told him I didn't have the patience to tie one and redo it until I got my ponytail straight, and not off to the side. So he did it for me. It was really sweet. But when the Pharaoh's men took over our village, my family was dead, and I ran away and by the time I came back, he had been killed."

"You're quite the romantic," sighs Bakura. "Are you sad about it?"

"Quite the contrary," she says. "He was a good friend but as a husband, I don't think he would have given me the space I need to be independent. I think I would have grown frustrated and left him."

"Smart analysis. Maybe it's better that way."

"You're horrible," she says, but there's an edge of humor to her voice. "I'm done talking for now. Tell me about yourself. Where you're from."

"And what if I don't want to?" he smirks.

"Like hell you want to! I just told you about me!"

"Calm down," he laughs. "You take everything so seriously. It's not so often I can speak to sympathetic ears. Not that I want your sympathy. You've never heard of my village. It's called Kul Elna. It won't appear on any map, and you'll never meet another citizen. I am the last remaining one. The Pharaoh sent his men to destroy my people to melt their bodies into gold."

She makes a face. "That's horrible! How greedy!"

He shows her the Ring. "This is one of them. I watched my family slaughtered to bits. He had no right to do that. I'll destroy the Royal Family until it's begging for death, crawling at me feet." He's shaking with anger. "I'll kill them all slowly and painfully. One day I'll be king of this place and make them bow to me."

"Stop." She rests her hand lightly on his shoulder. He's not used to being touched. It's always a rough hand pushing him or an attack. Her hand isn't threatening, though. It's comforting. "Stop upsetting yourself. I panic when men get angry, like you panic when women cry. Talk about something happy. Tell me about Kul Elna."

"Kul Elna…" His breathing slows. "It was a village of thieves. But it was also the best place on Earth. The sand smelled of spice. There was always something going on there. There was a cranky old lady my father would go to buy maamoul from. I tried to steal one once, and she sic'ed her cat on me. It just _pounced_ on me. Since then I've had this irrational dislike of cats. Blasphemous, no? That must be why the Gods hate me so much. There were fire-eaters and other freaks every Friday night in the market commons, and after work, my father would take me and my cousins to see them. I always looked forward to that. Then we would sit outside behind our house and just watch the moon and start. My father liked the moon, because it illuminates everything, but I like the stars, because they absolve us."

"I've never heard that. How so?"

"Because there are so many of them. They make us feel so small, but they still stay for us, in their glory, and let us know that even though we mess up, we'll always be good enough for them. I don't mess up often, but it's still nice."

"I think so. I try not to mess up. I'll get my revenge, and you get yours. By the way, have you ever wanted to speak to your family?"

"Of course, but—"

"No buts." She holds the doll. "I'm a professional necromancer. Pay up, and you can talk to them."

"Necromancy is illegal," he says, pleased.

"I'm aware." Her eyes narrow. "I work in the black market. Money is hard to come by, and I'd rather whore my magic than my body."

"I don't think I want to talk to them yet," he admits. "Not until I've avenged them."

"Feel like you don't deserve to?"

"Mind your own business."

"Thought so."

"Your dark energy, though…" he ponders. "It's stronger than that of necromancy. You know dark magic."

"Protection. Don't judge me."

"I know it too."

"Do you?" she smirks. "Me versus you? That sounds like fun."

"I can't fight a young woman," he protests. "It would be dishonorable. You'd get hurt. I could kill you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"I'm not fighting you." Exasperated.

"Fine. I'll show you my magic. If you think it can withstand yours, fight me. If not, I'll improve so the next time you see me, I'll be strong enough to hold my own against you."

"Next time?"

"Yeah," she smirks. "When you're king of this place or whatever. But don't think I'll be coming with gifts and kissing your ass."

"I can live with that." He nods contentedly, intrigued to see just how powerful this girl is, and if she actually lived up to her attitude. "But kissing my ass is a privilege."

She just gives him a look. She ends up tracing a huge circle in the sand, and makes a cross in the middle. With her smallest finger, she traces symbols delicately, taking her time. Bakura walks behind her, learning. He hasn't seen anyone do magic like this. He wonders if she learned from a forbidden book, or if it's a tangent of necromancy.

"Now stand back and witness." She stands in the center of the cross, and holds her hands in fornt of her, steepling her fingers. She mutters foreign words under her breath, getting louder until he notices she's chanting. Definitely a necromantic aspect. Spirits, much like the ones of Dark Sanctuary, escape the symbols in the ground, one by one, swirling around him, going through him.

"Diabound!" He summons him. "Girl, you asked for it!" He laughs. Diabound has absorbed a variety of attacks. What to use, what to use… nothing works except light. It's a strange choice for Bakura, but he aims glowing lightning at the spirits. Each time they are destroyed, they come back, a little weaker. Because spirits are remnants of the dead, and nearly impossible to destroy.

She screams and punches the ground. Another outflux appears, and Bakura has to double DIabound's attack strength. Changes to fire: light and heat. It appears more effective, and the desert won't catch fire. Swiping at them also works. It's a tough job, but it's easily under control, if he can keep his concentration straight.

Ten minutes, before she collapses. "Shit. You win."

"No girl your age should be able to do that."

"I'm nothing extraordinary. I'm sure plenty of other people could do better if they learned."

"That's not what I meant. You're _tainted_, child."

"I know." She leans against him. "But just be quiet and watch the stars with me. It's better than being alone."

"Is it?"

"I think so."

Silence. Just silence and appreciation. Its nice not to be alone for once. He knows he's going to wake up cold and alone the next morning. He's used to it. He's going to wake up in a world where everyone wants him dead, and he wants everyone else dead. He hasn't thought about how disconcerting it is until now. He won't dwell on it, he has to do what he has to do. There's no time to complain. He has too much honor.

A nudge in his side.

"Hm?"

"Do me a favor?" she asks, and hands him a ribbon. "Please?"

His fingers fumble. He's still shocked at the strange request, but has no objections to it because she asks nicely. He's never done this before, and he's a little clumsy, but he's determined and does a decent job. He pulls it tight, a little too tight, and she lets out a little "ah!"

"There you go."

"Thank you. This way at least, I'll think of you instead of him," she smiles. It's a rarity to see her actually smile, but he finds it nice. "You know, I really should be married by now. I don't want to die alone. I'd be lucky to be with you." She laughs a little. A half-joke.

He falls silent, shocked how she has the ability to do that to him. Marriage. Love, even. He had never thought about them. Once he avenged Kul Elna, possibly usurped the throne, it might actually be nice to have a queen. Not a conniving bitch, but a companion. Someone who wasn't trying to kill him. Someone to wake up next to in the morning and begin the day with. The idea wasn't repulsive by any stretch of the imagination. He was lonely. It was an acquired taste, but then again, it was more convenient. _Maybe_ _one_ _day_, he thought.

"Don't get your hopes up," he says coldly - too coldly. "I'll be gone before sunrise."

"I know," she says bitterly, and the next thing he knows, she's on her tiptoes, arms slung around his neck, her lips crashing into his. It's unexpected and awkward and desperate, and his eyes open in shock.

Even though she's cold as death, her mouth is hot against his. He's always been good at keeping his control, analyzing the situation as it happens, and unlike an average man, is still able to think completely straight. Realizes he doesn't _want_ to think straight. (It's like killing an animal for food, there's no thinking _necessary_.)

In a second and a half, he's kissing back, letting his eyelids fall halfway (refusing to close them), wrapping his arms around her waist and practically crushing her against him. He had expected her to be frail and thin and break in his arms, but she's not. Despite her slender figure, she's strong and solid, and he likes that. Wants that. Wants the faint taste of death on her lips, pries them open with his tongue mercilessly, not expecting her to comply in an instant and slide hers fearlessly over his.

_You're tainted, so tainted… and I don't even care._

She tangles her fingers in his hair, (because it's such an odd color), pulling him closer. There's no space between them and it's still too much. The heat, oh Ra, the _heat_, when was the last time he had felt his blood pulsing like this? He can tell from the way she's lightly trembling that she's new to this, but not disconnected from her instinct at all; runs his hands across her back and she sighs into the kiss.

"Closer…" he mutters against her lips; her arms move from his hair to wrap around his back. They can feel each other's heartbeats at this point, tongues growing feistier, nails leaving scratch marks through clothes.

When their noses can't bring in enough oxygen (and she goes first, blushing slightly), they break away, gasping, a borderline lust in their eyes, hands resting on each other's forearms.

"I don't care what you do next," she says. "Just promise me you won't forget me. It's the only way I'll transcend death."

"Are you afraid of death?" he asks.

"I am obsessed with it."

"You're the strangest girl I ever met," he laughs. "But forget about me. I'll be gone by sunset and chances are you'll never see me again. I'm not someone to be held on to." She still tastes like death on his teeth, as he turns around, the wind making his cloak billow. "Take care, dear."

"Take care, stranger."

She turns away because she's young and impressionable and doesn't want to watch him leave, and pretends that she can't hear his footsteps, while the modern-day version of her inside hates herself for having been that way. So weak and stupid and attached. Disgusting.

"Wait!"

She turns around. "Yes?"

Bakura runs towards her. "Before he comes back!" He crushes her him his arms. It's more authoritarian than anything. He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. "Tell me your name. The biggest mistake I made was not insisting on your name."

"Rrrmph!" She struggles. "Before who comes back? You know my name! It's on my card!"

"No, no," he whispers hurriedly. "Your name. Your mother didn't give birth to a baby and say 'she's adorable, let's name her Dark Necrofear.' Tell me!"

"You first!"

He can feel the darkness taking over again, pushing into him, trying to silence him. Trying to keep two humans apart. Making his heart even colder, turning it to stone, making it unfeeling. He usually likes it, usually sees it as his ally, but not right now. "Bakura!" he growls in desperation. The feeling stops, and then he shudders, arching back and almost screaming as an empty coldness washes over him. It feels more familiar then foreign. Zork. "And yours?" he asks, sharper, colder. He grips her harshly, nails digging into her skin, angry with himself for his outburst.

"Azeneth. My name is Azeneth."

"She who belongs to her father," muses Bakura. "You said he died when you were young. So who do you belong to now?"

"You," she says smugly. "You have my card."

"That's right. Azeneth." He says her name. It's almost like it gives him power over her. Takes away some of the mystery, one of the parts of her he couldn't touch.

"Bakura. Bakura of Kul Elna who is attempting to crush my ribs and rip my skin." He releases his grip, seeing the red marks from his nails. She inhales deeply, letting her rib cage expand. "I think you should take me to Kul Elna. I want to see it."

"Kul Elna is gone."

"Not here." She taps his forehead. "You're living through my memories. Why don't you take me in yours?"

"Why… WHY THE BLOODY HELL DID I NEVER THINK OF THIS?" He lets out a chain of curses. "All the times I could have gone back!"

"So let's go," she encourages. "What are we waiting for?"

"Wait," he says quickly. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen. Why?"

"I should be about… twenty right now. Kul Elna was destroyed when I was eight, which means you will be in the body of a two-year old when we visit."

"How will my mind be?" she asks, disappointed. "Will I just have the corresponding body, or will I be reduced to an incoherent child?"

"I have no idea! I don't do this on a regular basis!"

"It's worth a try," she insists. "Worst case, we just go back."

Bakura nods. "I'll carry you. But get sick on me or piss yourself and there will be consequences."

"Aww!"

The two of them snap out of their little world to face Ryou, who is sitting at the opening of the tent, one flap pushed away.

"You!" hisses Bakura. "What the hell are you doing here? How long have you been here? I should kill you!"

Ryou bursts out into laughter. "You're incredible, you know that? Your face, it's priceless. You look like a little kid that just got caught snogging behind the bushes at recess. This is really cute."

"Don't ever call me cute!" snarls Bakura, diving at Ryou, pinning him down. "Don't you ever! I want to kill you so badly right now!"

"But you can't," teases Ryou. "Because it's my body."

"Shut up!" He slams Ryou into the sand. It won't cause any damage, he knows.

"Hey! Cut it out!" protests Ryou. He struggles out of Bakura's grip and sits up. "You're horrible. I hate you."

"No one likes you, either," snorts Bakura. "You're outnumbered, so watch your mouth." He snakes his arm around Necro- no, Azeneth's waist. She's not Necrofear at this point, she still has some of her innocence. He won't give her the title when she hasn't reached it yet.

"You're an obstacle," she tells Ryou. "I'm not putting up with any bullshit from you."

"I don't usually hand it out." He's not used to being so horribly antagonistic, but he's in this horrid place with two people who have it out for him. He knows he'll be watching his back. "Must we start out on such terms?"

"Yes," she says. "You're on the Pharaoh's side. That's enough. I'd kill you if I could."

"Goodness."

"Have fun, Yadonushi." Bakura leaves for a walk. He is _pissed_. Feels violated, because that was one of his most personal experiences. It was also the first time in a long time that Zork hadn't been in him. And to think that an ally of the Pharaoh had seen him emotional, as vulnerable as he would let himself be. It really bothers him, upsets him, and he feels _violated_.

As for her, she's so confused, between the hopeful fourteen-year-old girl she was and the apathetic instrument of destruction she is. The Shadow Realm has made her a mess for now, and she deals with it in silence. She'll just wait until it's all over to go back to being herself.

She gives Ryou a death glare. "I bet you look good covered in blood. Like a little pale dead girl."

"I didn't mean to offend you," says Ryou. "The Spirit has been tormenting me for years, I think I deserve to poke fun at him."

"You think I would let myself feel offended by someone like you?" she scoffs. "If your Spirit wasn't dependent on you, I'd kill you in an instant because you annoy me."

"I didn't know the Pharaoh did those horrible things," says Ryou solemnly. "I'm very sorry about your family. No one should have to go through that."

"Are you mocking me?"

"No. I'm sympathizing with you."

"I don't want sympathy from an enemy! You should hate me!"

"That's not true!" insists Ryou. "I get why you two are so cold. It's because you've been hurt, and no one has shown you kindness. It's good you two have each other."

"You have no right to make a statement like that."

"You're impossible. What if I told you you're kind of pretty?" asks Ryou, trying to start a decent conversation, maybe by being nice. "I'm not trying to hit on you or anything, but I thought you should know."

She cocks her head. "Pretty?"

"Yes. What, no one has ever told you that either?"

"I'm not supposed to be pretty. I'm destructive and hateful and _efficient_." She hands him her card. "Look. Does that look pretty?"

Ryou looks at the card. "Your face is so delicate, both in real life and the card. And under that armor, your figure is nice. You look almost the same now, only younger and human. I think you're pretty. People should tell you more often. People should tell you you're a good person and that there's good in life and while it's hard, it can be beautiful."

"You don't believe that."

"No," he sighs. "Not for me. But I believe that it applies to just about everyone else. I don't hate you, but I'm not going to let you or the Spirit hurt my friends. They're not responsible for what happened. They're innocent."

"They're not. As long as they side with him, they have blood on their hands."

"And you don't?"

She gives him a look of insanity and conviction, and traces his jugular with her index. "I do. But unlike you, I have no problem admitting it, pretty boy."

He shivers. "What happened to you? How did you become so horrid and hateful?"

"A girl like me should live in a nice home with a good family and friendly villagers. A girl like me should have a happy ending."

"I don't get it."

"I'm what happens when a girl doesn't get her happy ending."

"And boys?" asks Ryou. "We deserve one too, right?"

"Of course. And that's when you get Bakura."

Ryou smiles at her. "Fate brought you two together again so you could give each other a happy ending."

She blinks. "No. I can't give him something I don't even have."

When Bakura finally comes back from his walk (he's been reminiscing and missing the Egypt desert at night for so long), Azeneth and Ryou are sitting on opposite sides of the tent. She's trying not to kill him, and he just wants to stay alive.

"I don't like him," is the first thing she says.

"Now you understand," says Bakura. "So now we all get to cram in here together. Great."

"It's _my_ tent," she says. "You're overcrowding this place. No one invited you."

"Why the hell aren't you at home?"

"Because I'm getting fed up with my family," she says sharply. "I need a break. Those spirits might just drive me insane."

"Might?" says Ryou quietly, earning himself a death glare.

Bakura sleeps between them so she won't fall into teptation and destroy his precious body. "Hey," she whispers. "Let's go to Kul Elna tomorrow."

"Excellent."

And when she's asleep, lightly, Bakura and Ryou are lying down, facing each other.

"I didn't know," whispers Ryou. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have tried to help you a little."

"It's none of your business," says Bakura. "I don't want your help, I need you to shut up and let me use your body without resistance."

"It's not going to be that easy. It's my life. But if you ask nicely, I might try to make this easier on you. No one deserves to go through what you went through. Either of you. But you shouldn't let it consume you and turn into darkness."

"The darkness is a formidable ally."

"No," says Ryou bitterly. "Strength is suffering and still being able to see the hope and beauty in life, and not just the hate. You're scared of getting hurt again, which is why you don't share personal things with others."

"I'm not scared, idiot. Go to sleep."

* * *

><p>AN: So yes, she has a name. I was reluctant to do that because I felt it would be too OC-ish, but then I got over myself. I didn't want to give her some Mary Sue-translated name, like something that meant "darkness" or whatever. Who has a kid and says "oh, I'm going to name her she-who-kills-people?" No. She gets a standard Egyptian name. We will witness the death of her father firsthand. It's going to be a while though, because time regression is a bitch and she's 14 now… so like, what 8 more years of regression? (I kind of feel bad for her.)

(I secretly want them to get it on at Kul Elna. Not that I would write it out, though. But they can't because she's 2 and he's 8. It would just be too weird.) There will hopefully be a tomb-robbing date. And there HAS to be a Dabkeh line at some point. Because I love Dabkeh and I can second a line and even lead one! Not like a man, but I'm working on it. I feel like Bakura would be awesome at Dabkeh. He would show me up and I would be okay with it.

Note the differences in mentality between Azeneth and Necrofear. Lines like "I don't want to die alone." This is her more innocent side. Necrofear would much rather die alone.

I'm expecting the story to pick up speed soon. What a weird little story… I can't help but think WHAT THE HELL.

Please review! Thanks to Kanashii Umi, Kinakao, and Angeliz for being loyal reviewers! I appreciate it!


	7. Kul Elna

**WARNINGS: Multiple semi-violent deaths, melting bodies, general violence, mild blood/gore (but nothing over T-rating), quick kiss between small children, biting a scorpion's head off. TRIGGER WARNING for victims of brutal auto accidents. Is that a legitimate trigger? Well if it is, you've been warned. Also age difference as usual, and historically inaccurate as usual.**

Recoil

_It kills me not to know this, but I've all but just forgotten what the color of her eyes was, and her scars and how she got them._

Mokuba laughs, gripping Ryou harder from behind, nuzzling his hair. Ryou, still sitting on the ground, places one of his hands over Mokuba's affectionately, smiling.

"I love you, Onii-chan," whispers Mokuba, breath against Ryou's neck. "I love you so much, don't ever let me go."

"Of course not," laughs Ryou. "Why would I ever? I love you too, I really do."

He feels Mokuba's hands slip out from under his and tousle his hair, before parting it down the middle and into two pigtails. "Onii-chan, you should wear pigtails like me. The way mom does my hair. I want to do it with yours."

Ryou laughs softly. "But I'm a boy. Boys don't wear pigtails."

Mokuba pouts. "I think you should wear pigtails, and I'll do you makeup just like mom does and you'll do it for me and we'll both be pretty princesses. And we'll go to the park and everyone will watch us and be jealous of how pretty we are. Please? Please Onii-chan?"

"I'll let you dress me up but I can't go outside like it! What if I run into my teachers? Or my classmates? I'd never hear the end of it!"

Mokuba tugs at Ryou's hair. "Don't ever cut your hair, Onii-chan. I like it so much, it's so pretty. I want to play with it all day." He works at one end, pulling it to the side of Ryou's head and messily ties it with a pink elastic band with a plastic teddy bear on it. Then he moves to the next side, doing the same, making them uneven by accident. This band has a heart on it. Mokuba smiles and looks at his work. "There. But you're not pretty enough, you need makeup!" Mokuba grips Ryou's hand, giggling. "I'll see you soon, Onii-chan!" He bounds out the front door, laughing.

"Wait, come back!" shouts Ryou, running after him, but it's too late. There's a squeal of tires and a clash of angry metal. "Mokuba!" he runs to his mother's SUV, which was slammed into the garage door ferociously by a black sedan. The door is bent, and won't open. He walks to the back and climbs onto the piece sticking out under the trunk, before hoisting himself onto the roof and down to the hood. The windshield fell out of its slot and didn't even shatter, but just fell straight down.

Mokuba.

Mokuba's been cut in half, eyes still open, mouth in the middle of a sentence. The glass of windshield just went right through him. Ryou thinks he's going to be sick. Someone is screaming horrendously, and Ryou wishes they would stop.

It takes a while for him to realize he's the one screaming.

He looks away from the passenger seat and sees Anzu, legs severed by the windshield, blood coming from the back of her head and mouth. He screams even louder and clambers off the car. The person in the sedan hadn't moved and Ryou doesn't care, but just runs to the next house and pounds mercilessly on the door, screaming his head off, and they won't open, they won't open….

"Yadonushi!"

Ryou opens his eyes in panic, searching around, trying to reorient himself. All he sees is Bakura hovering over him, gripping him tightly.

"S-sorry," stutters Ryou. "Bad dream, that's all." He's trembling a little, because it was so… real. It must be a side effect of the Shadow Realm. This must be like Dante's inferno or something, where sins are materialized. Where his fears and most vulnerable points are open target.

"Looked like more than just a bad dream," sneers Bakura. "Did you feel like you were living it? Like you were actually there? Watching your family torn away from you? I can see your dreams, Yadonushi, and as long as you side with the Pharaoh, I'll do nothing to alleviate them."

Ryou sits up, upset at Bakura for being so rude when he's already shaken enough. "You know, I was going to talk to you about that, but if you're going to be rude, then I won't."

"There's nothing to talk about, except you're an enemy."

"I'm not," insists Ryou. "Tell me, are you sure the Other Yuugi is responsible? He doesn't seem to be the type."

"I was _there_," snarls Bakura. "Don't ask stupid questions. He's lost his memories, and probably being around that weakling has made him seem nicer."

"Then I if you're nice to me, then I think I may have decided to help you," says Ryou smugly. Anticipates the look of shock on Bakura's face and drinks it in for what it's worth. It's so nice to have Bakura reacting to him.

"Oh, and why has this change of heart come all of a sudden?" sneers Bakura, regaining his senses.

"Because I'm not a hateful person, but I still remember, and if that drunk had lived, I would have wanted him behind bars. I believe in justice. So I'll help the spirits of Kul Elna rest. They're innocent; they deserve it. But I refuse to harm any of my friends."

"The mortals?"

"If you call them that, yes. I won't hurt Yuugi and the others, and I'll fight you if you try. But I don't have a problem sending a man who ordered the slaughter of an entire village to the Shadow Realm."

"Sadist, aren't you?" Bakura's grin is growing wider.

"You must be rubbing off on me," says Ryou sourly. "No, I'm not. I don't believe in torture. And once he is gone, you have to forgive him."

"You're an idiot if you think that's going to happen. Why in hell should I forgive him? He killed my family! You don't forgive that!"

"Sh, you'll wake her up," hisses Ryou. "I don't want to talk about myself, but personal experience is all I have. I was angry for a long time, but all it did was eat at me and harm me. When I finally forgave him, and trust me, it was difficult, it was incredibly liberating. You can't live angry for all these years, it will drive you crazy."

"You say that Yadonushi, but would you say that if he roamed the streets free? He died. You didn't even have to work for your revenge. And where has your optimism got you?"

"Where has your pessimism gotten you?" snaps Ryou back. "It's hard for me to talk about this, I don't appreciate you trivializing me!"

"Rmph… who's there?" Azeneth groans lightly and opens her eyes, drawing her and back immediately when she realizes she was holding on to Bakura. "What's going on?"

"Yadonushi here thinks I need to forgive the Pharaoh," says Bakura darkly. "What do you think?" Of course he doesn't care for a second opinion. He knows she'll side with him.

"He's your problem. You won't let me kill him. You can deal with him. Of course, I think that's the worst idea I've ever heard."

"I understand where you're both coming from," sighs Ryou. "I think you'll be more open to the idea once the spirits are at rest." He won't talk about it anymore. He understands.

"I was always opposed to showing you my memories of Kul Elna," smirks Bakura, "but I think they'll change your mind. This should work in my favor."

Azeneth's eyes light up for half a second at the idea of visiting Kul Elna. Ryou notices, and thinks he'll miss this. Knows Necrofear's eyes will never light up like that. Ryou has to admit, he's also looking forward to visiting Kul Elna. Now that he thinks about it, though he's thought about it before, he doesn't really know anything about this mysterious spirit. There's something relaxing in knowing that the Spirit is not simply evil, but vengeful. There's almost something heroic about choosing to help him; Ryou just hopes he won't get dragged in too deep and end up hurting someone innocent.

* * *

><p>Kul Elna is nothing beautiful to behold. It's nouveau riche if anything, fueled by the possessions of thieves. The economy makes no logical sense, and it seems to be violent. Dirty children play on the side of the road. Toothless merchants sell their treasures and trade with each other. More than anything it's a residence place, with a few taverns and brothels, with places specifically designated for the art of working with gold.<p>

Eight-year-old Bakura walks slowly, carrying little Necrofear on his back, looking around. Feels the familiar sand between his toes and tries to grasp the reality of everything. It's been five thousand years, and it still looks the same. Of course it does. It's his memories. The sand still smells of spice and there's the usual commotion going on, toothless men arguing about politics like they could change anything, young men with their new wives clinging to them. Girls travel in groups together, giggling and gesturing. He faintly recognizes some of the people, and it's just so strange seeing them in person again.

He hadn't expected to react, but he feels his chest tightening a bit. He feels weak. Zork doesn't want to support him, but to drive his anger and weakness and emotions for Kul Elna to fuel his desires to collect the Items. Takes a step back and watches Bakura crack a little. Kul Elna. He never got to spend enough time here; it was all ripped away so quickly.

"What's so special about this?" asks Necrofear.

Bakura says nothing, but trudges on. Ryou walks steadily with him, also trying to get used to the sight. It's the first time he's ever been to Egypt. It's nothing like he would have imagined out of a history textbook. And it's so _hot!_ He fans himself with his hands. He's worried about sunburn too. Remembers it's the Shadow Realm and calms down a bit.

It's easy to remember none of this is real.

A little boy approaches Bakura. His dirty hair covers his eyes, and there's a long yet superficial scar on his leg, probably the product of rough play. Bakura stops cold when he comes, almost afraid to touch him. "Hey 'Kura! My dad stole a boatload, and my family's throwing a feast tonight! You coming?"

"Course!" smiles Bakura, uncharacteristically joyful. Bakura as a child. His memories. "I wouldn't miss it for the world! I'll see you later!"

_How sweet_, thinks Ryou. Seeing this human side of the spirit… it's very enlightening, and makes Ryou feel much better. He knows he's not possessed by pure evil, but by a misguided person, and thinks that helping him is probably the right thing to do.

The boy pouts. "You don't want to play with me now? My big brother taught me how to spit really far! I bet I could beat you!"

"No way! I can totally spit farther than you!" In his mannerisms, Bakura nearly drops Necrofear, who latches onto his neck and he gasps out. "But I have to go home or I'll be in trouble. I'll prove it to you tonight!"

"Yeah? I'mma kick your ass!"

They first-bump, and Bakura continues his walk down the dirty streets, still looking around and breathing the air in. He stops for a second and closes his eyes and throws his head back, feeling the familiar sunlight on his face, mixed with the comfort of Necrofear pressed against him. A little gust of wind blows and makes his hair ruffle; he smiles.

He actually smiles.

Ryou doesn't think he's ever seen Bakura actually smile before, and thinks he's adorable like this. Would probably have a killer smile as an adult, too. Necrofear tightens her grip on Bakura, and while keeping his eyes close, he jerks her upwards and catches her in the amended position. She stops fidgeting but just rests against him comfortably, taking advantage of the fact that she has no effort to do here. Bakura shakes his head a little because his hands aren't free, and feels the wind in his scalp a little. It feels so good… so good…

He opens his eyes and takes another hesitant step forward, and then quickens his pace because he's just remembered _he's going to see his family_ and breaks into as much of a run as he can; doesn't care if he's dropped his composure and just stumbles through the village, Ryou at his walking briskly to keep up with him. "Hang on tight!" he shouts, tightening his grip on her from behind and darts between people. She ducks when a particular swerve nearly takes her head out.

As they approach his home, the streets get more and more crowded. They pass by a little stand with a grouchy old woman with a cat. Bakura's hairs stand on end and he edges slowly away from it. He's learned that animals pay attention to moving objects.

"Scared of a silly cat?" teases Necrofear.

"Shut up," snaps Bakura, trying to put on an air of confidence. "Unless you want me to drop you here and leave you at its mercy."

She scowls but says nothing, and once the cat is out of eyesight, he gets back to running/stumbling. He's got a determined look in his eye, and Ryou sees the Spirit in the body of the child. Wonders how Bakura will react to seeing his parents.

Bakura's house is rather large compared to Necrofear's. Ryou doesn't understand the meaning of the structure, but she does immediately, though she says nothing. Bakura steps up to the door and just… stops. It's a little too much. Inhale. Exhale. Tries to remember what his family looks like, and does. Hesitantly turns the knob, and takes a step in.

There's the sound of adult voices, and some of children, in the distance. He walks through these halls, and he remembers the layout more and more clearly with each step. It's been five thousand years, but walking here again and smelling the faint, decaying plaster of the walls, bare feet on the cold tile, makes it feel almost like he only left for the night.

His chest tightens.

The adult voices become louder and louder. Ryou follows behind, still taking all this in. Bakura continues down the hallway, hearing his heart thumping in his throat, even harder as he recognizes one of the female voices. His brain shuts down for a second, but he continues in.

Mother.

Sitting on the couch, in an embroidered dress Father stole not too long ago. Dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, one delicate hand resting on the armrest of the couch. She holds a glass of diluted arak in her hand, pinky sticking out nouveau-riche style, sitting across from a man with hair the color of Bakura's. He also has arak in his hand, and dips his hand into a ceramic bowl, brings a _bizr_ seed to his front teeth and cracks it. Runs his rongue inside the seed, pulling out the green part, and sets the white shell on the table.

"Kahotep, have decency," says Bakura's mother languidly. "I don't want to clean up your trash."

"Fine," grumbles the man named Kahotep, and throws his shells back in the bowl. Takes another seed and cracks it violently.

"Why the foul mood?" asks Bakura's mother. "I'd refrain from asking because you'd usually snap at me, but you've been a grouch all day. And please refrain from snapping at me."

Ryou notices the antagonism in Bakura's mother, and wonders if it's a genetic thing. Or if maybe Bakura's taken such a liking to Necrofear because her relentless antagonism is familiar.

"Because it's been weeks and I haven't made a good steal in weeks! Your husband keeps reminding me, too!"

Bakura chuckles softly, setting Necrofear down, before walking into the living room and approaching his mother. "Mother?" he asks, quietly.

"What, Bakura?" she asks, irritated. "It took you forever to get home, what happened to you? You spoiled little child."

"Mother!" He doesn't care anymore. He just doesn't. Even. Care. Nothing matters, nothing about being a threatening spirit or Zork or Necrofear or the Ring or the Pharaoh. It disappears and he feels like a child again, something he hasn't felt in five thousand years but it feels so right, and he just throws himself on her, wrapping is arms around her and burying his face in her dress, holding her like he'll never let her go. "Mother…" He's not going to cry, he knows he's too broken, but he knows he should. Just breathes in her scent, the smell of parsley and lemon on her hands from cooking _tabbouleh_. He'd always hated the way the little pieces got stuck in his teeth but right now the smell of it is the best thing in the world.

"What, Bakura?" she snaps. "Get off me and get to work."

"Mother, I missed you… I… I love you, mother…" Missed her attitude and lavender eyes like his and her voice and how beautiful she was when she actually smiled. The way she scolded him but would raise Hell if anyone laid a finger on him.

"Of course you love me, I'm your Ra-damned mother! I gave birth to you and put up with you for all these years, no? Now show me you love me and start cleaning the floor in your room. We have a lot of work tonight."

"Of course." He sits up and has never been so enthusiastic about cleaning a floor. He's the King of Thieves, the Spirit of the Millennium Ring, and this should be the most degrading task in the world. Especially in front of Yadonushi and Necrofear. He has a reputation to uphold, for both his host and monster but…

… since when does he care?

Ryou is just smiling and Necrofear is chewing the leg of one of the tables maliciously. Teething pains. He looks at them and does a throat-slitting movement with his index finger, letting them know if either of them say anything, he'll kill them. Ryou just laughs softly. Necrofear is too preoccupied to notice.

"Uncle Kahotep, I missed you too." Bakura bows respectfully to his mother's brother, the one who shares the color of his hair. He wonders how his mother didn't get it; would have to wait five thousand years to learn about recessive genes to make sense of it all. Kahotep smells of _nargile_. He'd always offered the tip to Bakura, who had always refused, but laughed when Kahotep puffed the smoke through his nose like a dragon.

"Bakura, my boy. Been staying out of trouble today?" He breaks another seed between his teeth, badly, and cusses. "_Sharmouta!_"

"Language," says Bakura's mother sharply.

"He'll have to learn eventually, Kepi. You're so prude."

"Don't repeat those words, Bakura." orders Kepi. "Now go."

"Yes mother. Oh, by the way—" _By the way, I'm the King of Thieves now. I've survived five thousand years to avenge you. I've destroyed opponent after opponent and collected most of the Millennium Items. I've wreaked havoc on the royal palace. All for Kul Elna. Are you proud of me, mother?_ "—Azibo's family is having a feast tonight."

"You think I don't know? His mother stopped by earlier to tell me. If you want to go, clean your room!"

He bows and scurries out to the bathroom, Ryou and Azeneth following behind. He finds one of the old _mams'ha_ towels and takes it, along with the water bucket back to his room.

His room.

It's small, and he shares it with his little sister. His little sister who looks uncannily like Amane. She's decorated her side of it with girly little trinkets, things he'd wished she'd get rid of before, but now, he drops the _mams'ha_ to the floor and holds his breath as he picks up the little doll on her dresser. Runs his fingers over it over and over again in silence. Puts it down and just touches everything there, not caring about what Ryou has to think. (Of course, Ryou is more than sympathetic.)

Opens one of the drawers and pulls out her used dress that needs washing and just breathes her scent in. He misses her, misses her so much…

…but he puts it back. There's work to be done. Bends down to pick up the _mams'ha_—

"Don't put that in your mouth! That's unsanitary!" He takes it away from Necrofear, who pouts (and it's so cute, thinks Ryou, who's learned not to take any of this too seriously anymore), and dips it in the bucket. "Okay, Yadonushi, you and your mortal friends complain about cleaning your rooms. _This_ is how you do it, and it's actually worth complaining about. Observe closely." He dips the towel into the bucket of water and carries them to the opposite end of the room. Throws it on the floor, places his hands on it, bends his knees at a tiring angle. "One.. two.. three!" Swipes it from one wall to the other, then steps back, with another streak. The tiles shine from the water, and he makes his way around the furniture. Keeps going across the entire room, picking up all the dust, even when his little knees and back ache horribly. Back, forth, back, forth, pressure and friction and the towel twisting…

Has to stop halfway to regain his breath. Bends down and gets to work again, until the whole room floor is soaking and shining and clean. "We have to let it dry," he says, and tiptoes his way to the bed he shared with his sister. Climbs into it, partially because his small body is tired, but also because he misses this and isn't ashamed to admit it. Lies down on her side of it and buries his face in the pillow. It smells just like her, and he wants her to be there so they can kick each other in their sleep and fight and yell at each other. So he can beat up anyone who messes with her.

Shit, he thinks. This is affecting him way more than it should. Why isn't Zork keeping his emotions in check? He's getting very frustrated with himself.

"Um, you… really shouldn't do that," says Ryou to Necrofear, who's teething behaviors have heavily damaged one of the bedposts holding the thing up, and there's blood coming from her gums onto it.

"What, you think I like this?" she snaps, before returning to work.

"Get off my pillow!"

Bakura looks up and sees… her. Athyr. His pouty little sister, standing at the doorframe, her brown hair in natural curls.

"Amane…" breathes Ryou.

"And what if I don't?" he teases. "You can't come in here, I just did _mams'ha_ and it's not dry yet."

"I'm going to mess up your _mams'ha_ job if you don't get off my pillow!"

"If you do I'll kill you and you won't be able to go to Azibo's feast tonight."

"I'll kill you first!"

It seems the antagonism runs in the family, Ryou notices. He was never this way with Amane.

"Okay, okay, I'll get off your stupid pillow," he grumbles. "Just 'cause even if you kill me I'll be the one who gets in trouble. But I was looking at your pillow because… there was a scorpion."

Athyr turns white. "A sc-sc-scorpion?"

"You're pathetic," snaps Necrofear, though Athyr can't see or hear her.

"Yeah," smirks Bakura. "A big black one too. I was going to kill it, but, I guess you don't want me to."

"No! Please kill it!" she begs. "I hate scorpions! They're so gross! And they have these pincher things that are just ewwww!"

"They're just ewww!" mimics Bakura. "Maybe I don't want to kill it."

"Please, Bakura! Kill it or I won't sleep here!" She's about to cry of fear. It's almost the same fear that Bakura has of cats, but Bakura's not sympathetic by nature, even as a child. "Please please pretty please?"

Bakura breaks down laughing. "You're so stupid, look at your face! There was no scorpion, I was lying!"

"Shut up! I hate you!" And she brings her dirty feet into the room, ruining his job and tackles him, pulling at his hair. He fights back and they roll off the bed where they fall with a loud bang.

"Stop fighting!" cries out Ryou. "Stop! You'll really hurt her!"

"I hate you!" screams Athyr. "You're stupid and I hate you!"

"_You're_ stupid!" shouts Bakura, rolling over and trying to pin her down. "And you're ugly!"

"I am not! I'm not!" She stops fighting. "How can you say that?" She starts crying.

"No no no no no! Stop crying! Stop crying right now!" he says, panicked. "Please don't cry!"

"Say you're sorry," she bawls. "Say you're sorry or I'll keep crying!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

"Am I pretty, Bakura?"

"Yes, you're very pretty. The prettiest girl in all of Egypt. There. Don't cry."

She abruptly stops crying and smirks. "Who's stupid now? You think I care about your opinion? Idiot!"

"I hate you!" he shouts, and tackles her, and they fight on the floor.

"Bakura, stop, you're bigger than her!" shouts Ryou. "You could seriously hurt her!"

Bakura actually listens to Ryou and pulls away. "Stop," he tells his sister. "Let's stop fighting. This is stupid."

"No, _you're_ stupid!" She aims a punch, which he blocks.

"I said stop," he growls in a dark voice. She actually stops. "This is getting stupid. Just give me a Ra-damned hug."

She looks at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because one day one of us won't be around and we'll regret the times we spent fighting instead of holding each other."

"You sound like father," she says disdainfully, and hesitantly accepts his embrace. He holds her tightly, and he wonders how long he's been capable of such emotion. It's so strange, so foreign to feel like this, to keep inhaling her scent like a familiar drug or running his fingers through her hair. He wants to just feel her again, the familiar bone structure he spent half his life with, but it would definitely come off incestuous, so he resists and just holds her.

When he breaks away, he feels like the pressure in his chest is building out of control. "Help me fix the _mams'ha_? So we can go to the feast?"

"Sure…" she sighs, and carries the bucket over.

They spend fifteen minutes sloshing water at each other and laughing while cleaning the floor and messing it up again.

All Ryou can think of is Amane, and his nightmare, and how he wished every minute, no matter now few they were, he spent fighting with her, was spent hugging and playing with her. Loving her for all she was worth. He feels his heart twisting into knots, and picks up Necrofear from the floor and sits on the bed with her.

"What are you doing?" she protests. "Let go of me, mortal!"

"You're just a child, stop fighting," he laughs, and holds her against him. Pretends.

And she stops flailing, and pretends she's with her father.

* * *

><p>They all head to the feast together, and Kepi meets her husband there. He has (future) Bakura's strong frame and facial structure, though it was Athyr who inherited his brown hair and honey eyes. He's a very good-natured man, and Ryou is amazed how someone as snappy as Kepi just falls to pieces with him. (And he secretly wonders if Dark Necrofear —not Azeneth, but Necrofear—has ever spent time with a kind man like him who showed her love and made her fall apart like that. He'd guess not.)<p>

He brings Kahotep's children with him; Kahotep's wife died in childbirth, Ryou understands, and he and his children have lived with Kepi ever since. They are two boys, one Bakura's age, one older. So Bakura and his cousins grew up together. No wonder he was so heartbroken to watch them die.

Bakura and his cousins are inseparable. They fight a lot, yes, always getting into wrestling fits that Kepi scolds them for (but her husband—Nakhti, his name is- tells her to calm down, and she blushes and does), but they're inseparable. The four of them spend the night together, rarely separating to socialize with the other children of the village. They're sociable, but would rather stay with each other.

Azibo and Bakura have their spitting contest and none of them can consistently stay in the lead, so it stays unsettled.

At one point, a pretty girl shyly walks up to Bakura. He instantly turns red and scratches his head nervously, but fixes his posture. "Hello! It's good to see you again, how have you been?"

"Aww!" exclaims Ryou, before his brain can suppress the interjection. Necrofear has finally given in and let him carry her. She sucks on a drink coaster now, and just glares at the girl.

"I've been alright. And you?" Her voice is high-pitched, her movements feminine and graceful and delicate. A little blush takes over her cheeks.

"I've been good." Bakura puffs out his chest. "I killed two scorpions and a snake this week," he brags.

Ryou laughs quietly. Necrofear just snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Wow, you're so brave!" The girl's eyes sparkle. "I'm kind of scared of snakes and scorpions so my dad kills them for me."

"Well, you're a girl, so you're supposed to be scared. That's normal. But men kill them for you." Men, implying that as an eight year old, he is one too.

"Oh no he did not!" exclaims Necrofear.

"He's a child, don't judge him," muses Ryou. "I'm sure his mind changed when he met you."

"Hmph." Back to the coaster.

"I guess," laughs the girl shyly. "So, um, can I ask you something?"

"Okay."

"How did you get your hair to do that?" She hopes her question doesn't offend him.

Bakura blushes. He's usually teased about his hair; for someone to think it's cool makes him happy. And a very pretty girl, too! He tries to form an interesting sentence, but all that comes out is, "I was born with it?"

"Oh," she says sadly. "Because mine is boring. I want yours."

He turns even redder. "No, no, I like your hair! You're pretty! I mean, it's pretty! I mean, not that you're not pretty, or anything, that's not what I meant but I was just trying to say your hair is pretty. But if we were talking about you, I would say you're pretty. But we're not, so I didn't want to seem off topic…"

"I'm… not exactly following."

"Me neither," he sighs. "I'm going to kiss you now. Okay?"

"WHAT?" Necrofear roars.

"Um, yeah, but why?" she asks anxious, anticipating, flattered, nervous.

"Because you're pretty and I want to. Also I'm kind of bad with words."

_Oh, that will change eventually_, thinks Ryou.

"Oh. Okay," whispers the girl nervously. She looks around to make sure none of the adults are watching. They're not, and she nods at Bakura.

Inside, he's laughing at himself very very hard, nearly roaring as he places a hand on her cheek and trembling, aiming well by chance, presses his lips to hers for a second. Breaks away almost immediately, blushing a furious shade of red.

"That was… weird?" she says.

"Yeah," he admits. "I think it gets good when we're older."

"Okay!" she giggles. "But I think you're cool." She giggles even more.

"Thanks! I think you're cool too!" He grins, wordless, until her father comes up and taps her on the shoulder and they wave goodbye.

"I'll show him _cool_," grumbles the little girl in Ryou's arms. She takes the coaster and slips out of Ryou's arms. Looks in a corner and finds exactly what she's looking for. A large, black scorpion.

"Come back!" cries out Ryou, chasing after her.

She raises the coaster and bashes the scorpion many times over until it stops moving. Dead. Holds it up to Ryou.

"Ugh."

"Exactly." She walks on her little legs to Bakura and tugs at his clothing.

"Yes?" He snaps, turning around and seeing Necrofear with the scorpion.

She rips off the venomous tail first, and then the pinchers, and then _sticks its head in her mouth and rips it off_. Spits it out at Bakura's feet. "Kiss another girl in front of me again and you're next." She sticks the decapitated scorpion in his face. "Am I clear?"

"I didn't know you felt that way about me, Necrofear." He draws out her name seductively, which is a skill for a spirit in the body of an eight-year-old.

"I don't," she says, crossing her arms. "But still." She waves the scorpion. "I'm not kidding."

"I know you're not dear, but it was just a memory. Calm your baby self down."

She throws the scorpion at Bakura and goes back to viciously sucking the coaster.

* * *

><p>Nakhti has the family leave early, much to Kahotep's discontent, though Nakhti's got the charm to make an old witch smile. They walk through the starry streets, and he holds Kepi's hand. She blushes and just melts to pieces and Ryou cannot comprehend the dynamics behind it.<p>

"Fire eaters!" shouts Bakura, and runs off, and the other children follow. The adults walk after them, Kepi too bubbly to bother scolding them.

"They're so cool," whispers Athyr, clinging to Bakura.

"I'm scared there's going to be an accident," says the older of the cousins.

"I would laugh," says the younger.

There's also a man who plays a foreign instrument, as well as a woman who can bend in strange directions. They're afraid a little of the spectacle, but they come here every Friday when the freaks are in town just to watch. They don't seem to be Egyptian, but they speak the language, it seems. The children are too scared to get close to them, but too intrigued to simply turn away.

They only watch for a little tonight, because the adults have serious business to discuss at home, and they usher the children back home….

…back home, Bakura feels good. Well, his eight-year old shell feels good, but the Thief King on the inside is just bubbling with... he's not sure how to label it, but being around his family again, even if it's not the same as actually communicating with them, is wonderful. He still wonders why Zork is letting him feel all these emotions. He's still a bit frustrated for feeling, he knows it's a weakness, but as he curls up next to Athyr, the familiar warmth of her body against his, he just doesn't care anymore.

"That's my eye!" she hisses.

"Sorry." He pulls his arm away.

_Adorable_, thinks Ryou, sitting at the foot of the bed.

The silence is so peaceful, and _safe_. He hasn't felt safe in five thousand years. Always having to watch his back. It feels so good to let go for once, to stop fighting and keeping his guard up and just feel love. He hasn't felt love in five thousand years. He's forgotten what it's like, and how amazing it is. Anyone else and he would push it away, but it's his family. There's no choice in love here, he knows. Anyone else is, and he'll never love them, but his family…

… he wonders if it's a weakness or a strength; if being affected by their death was a sign of weakness or if it fueled his strength. He can't decide, but doesn't care. He just feels _good_.

"NOBODY MOVE!"

Bakura and Athyr freeze.

"Bakura, what's going on?" she whispers, scared.

"I don't know," he tells her, but this time around, it's a lie. He knows very well what's going on. He puts his arms around her. The quiet continues to be broken, though he's wishing the noise away. Inconsiderate feet storm through the house he knows his mother and cousins also cleaned. The clinking of metal.

A scream. Bakura's cousins.

Bakura clamps his hand over Athyr's mouth, because he knows they've got his cousins and while he should save them and be brave, his sense of self-preservation is kicking in. Athyr looks at Bakura, terrified, and her fear is intensified when she hears Kahotep's roar and the clash of metal. It makes him wince. He knows Kahotep always slept with a knife under his pillow, a habit he'll pick up.

"_Kiss ach'tik bezerik a'kho sharmouta!"_ he hears Kahotep roar in fury, and this time his swearing isn't funny. Bakura squeezes his grip on Athyr, to let her know Kahotep will defeat them . "_Ya shramite!"_

Shit. There's a lot of them.

More metal on metal, swearing, thuds, broken furniture, the works. Bakura can tell Kahotep is fighting tooth and nail, but then there's a disgusting sound of metal against flesh-

And Kahoteps' voice is no more.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" roars Nakhti, in his nightclothes, brandishing a sword, Bakura sees, peeking from his doorframe. There are six men. Six. The cowards! Six on one is not fair by any means, and Bakura can feel the emptiness inside, the lack of control. Without control, he's… afraid. Truly, truly afraid.

"YOU WICKED THIEVES SHALL PAY FOR YOUR WAYS!" roars one of them, lunging himself at Nakhti, who blocks him off skillfully. Bakura remembers mentally cheering Father on. More clashes, and then they get annoyed and he's not looking, two of them impale him from the back. Two swords sticking out at grotesque angles. Bakura can't stop watching.

He doesn't hear Ryou screaming at him to cover his eyes and run away.

He does hear the scream of his mother as she rushes out and to grab her husband's body, killed before she can even reach it.

Aphyr wriggles out of Bakura's grip and runs to her mother, screaming, releasing all the pent-up horror inside.

"A child?" asks one of them.

"We already killed two," says another curtly.

"MOTHER! MOTHER! WAKE UP! STOP BLEEDING!"

"But a girl?"

"No matter." He strikes her down. Bakura shakes violently, hand over his mouth, in absolute shock and horror. He hadn't expected it to be this bad, reliving it. He didn't expect to go numb again and feel absolutely devastated, or to have the sense to crawl under his bed while they search the house and assume there's no one else. They have their 99.

And when they're gone, taking the bodies with them, all six, a perfect match, Bakura sneaks out, heart pounding, to at least get the bodies back and prove to himself that they're really dead, he regrets it even more.

Because flesh _melts_.

In the most grotesque of forms.

"STOP WATCHING!" screams Ryou. "STOP!"

But Bakura can't stop watching. He sees Azibo thrown in the cauldron, with his parents and brother; sees the pretty girl he kissed and her father; sees his father and mother and uncle and cousins and sister (and when the sister goes in, the tears roll down Ryou's cheeks. He can't help it-) melting into gold.

The next thing he knows, his feet have taken him as far away as possible, before he collapses and his mind goes blank. He doesn't remember any more, and there's nothing to live here.

* * *

><p>He hasn't said anything in hours.<p>

He sits back in Necrofear's memories, in the sand, hands covering his face. He's been shaking for what seems like forever, not looking at them. Ryou has been resting his hand on Bakura's shoulder, worried about seeing the Spirit so _vulnerable_.

Ryou looks at Necrofear (sixteen and sour and playing with her fingernails), giving her a look that tells her she might be useful. She groans and walks over to Bakura.

"Poor baby," she says mercilessly, but it doesn't seem like Bakura can hear her. She crouches down and holds his face in her hands. His expression is blank. "Talk to me."

He shakes his head and looks down again.

"No. No bullshit. I've never seen you broken like this, and we're not going to start now." If words won't get through to him… she kisses him softly (erasing that other girl), until she feels a reaction, and breaks away.

"You don't understand," he says hoarsely, blinking uneasily. "I should have died."

The look in her eyes changes, to one of… not empathy, but something kind of close. Understanding. Because she shouldn't have been lying in a pool of her own blood for hours only to wake up and know it wasn't over. "Don't flatter yourself like that, thinking you're the only one who feels that way," she says coldly, but even though her words are harsh, she slips her arms under his and cradles his head against her chest (a luxury no other man has had).

Ryou rests a hand on both their shoulders, not to comfort them, but because maybe he needs it too (the screech of tires and clash of metal and everything).

* * *

><p>Translations, and all of these are in Arabic, Lebanese dialect. All these are Lebanese cultural things, also found in other surrounding countries, in the modern times. Maybe in the old times. Totally cheating with Ancient Egypt. I don't care.<p>

_Mams'ha_: A special towel rag thing used to clean floors in the Middle East. Like a primitive Swiffer. We wash our floors like that, not just broom them.

_Tabbouleh_: Chopped up parsley mixed with tiny diced tomatoes and lemon juice.

_Nargile_: Hookah. But the only place I've heard it called "hookah" is in the USA. In Middle Eastern countries, it's called either a nargile or argile.

That thing Kahotep cusses? I won't translate that in a T-rated fic.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, this may have been confusing. Ryou's dream was in fast-forward. Bakura's actions are mostly his memories, though he does change some things around, such as hugging his mom and apologizing to his sister. The rest are just reenactments, like kissing that random girl. Who is not as awesome as DN.

Also, she goes by "Necrofear" in this chapter because it is her, just in the body of a baby. She'll be addressed based on what's on the inside, hence, at the beginning of this chapter she was Azeneth. She's Necrofear here because they're Bakura's memories, not hers, so her spirit is unaffected.

Clearly the Shadow Realm follows the rules of science. Because you can totally kill a scorpion with a drink coaster. Well maybe. I wouldn't know.

Also, do you guys want more frequent short chapters or do you like these long continuous chapters, even if you have to wait?

Thanks to everyone who has added this to their alerts and favorites. If you like it so far, please review as well, even if just a few words. Thanks! And thanks to all reviews so far, which are from sefina, Kanashii Umi, Kinakao, Hana-Liatris, Angeliz, and Ryou VeRua.


	8. Underground

**WARNINGS: Some sexually suggestive stuff, fighting violence, knife violence, swearing, there's a brothel here… that should cover it.**

Recoil

_I live my life like I bleed: too much._

Her gestures are empty, like the rest of her; she runs her fingers through his hair and cocks her head, thin red lips pursed because the man who owns her is broken. It's frightening a little, but it feels very good, to finally be in a little control.

She resents Ryou's hesitant hands on her shoulder.

Ryou leans down to the Spirit, whose face is hidden comfortably in a disenchanted Necrofear's chest. "Spirit?" whispers Ryou quietly. "Spirit, it's me, Yadonushi. You can hear me, right?"

A soft moan in reply.

"I'm really sorry," continues Ryou softly. "You didn't deserve to go through that." He tries to think of what he'd want to hear if he was in this position, tries to think of things that he's heard people say when comforting others. "I think you're really strong for making it this far and… I don't have a problem with you using my body for revenge. I think you deserve it. Okay? Can you hear me, Spirit? I'm going to let you use my body."

Bakura turns to face Ryou. "Thank you…" he reaches out a hand and touches Ryou's cheek softly. "Thank you, Yadonushi. I appreciate that."

(Zork laughs to himself. He's got the Thief King right where he wants him –weak, broken, easy to manipulate-, and what's best, he's even gained an ally! This should be useful indeed.)

A flash of irritation through golden eyes, and her nails grip harshly at his hair, scraping his scalp. "Time's up," she says coolly.

Ryou looks at her in surprise. She glances at him and then turns back to Bakura. "Get up." He shakes his head and goes back, wrapping his arms around her even harder.

"Don't… don't leave me…" he whispers, barely audible. It's unexpected but not really so, because he's never dealt with any of this properly. It's unexpected to have a broken child in the body of a man, but time and space have lost all meaning.

"I can't leave you. You have my card." It's the last thing he needs to hear. It's almost like a slap in the face. It's like she's telling him she doesn't want to be here. He shouldn't feel, but he's vulnerable and broken right now and it hits him, hard.

"Fine," he says hoarsely. "Leave if you don't want to stay with me anymore. You'll be taken away eventually, won't you? Everything good is always taken away from me."

"Stop wallowing in your own self-pity," she tells Bakura. He doesn't move. "Get up. Yadonushi is here. You want him to see you like this?"

Still no sound.

"Get up!" she growls. "You're pathetic!"

"No!" cries out Ryou. "How can you say that to him? You saw what he went through! What kind of person are you?"

She shifts her arms under his and lifts him up towards her. Ryou notices how fluid and darkly elegant her movements have become, how her mouth twists into an inhuman snarl when she becomes upset. "Are you going to spend the rest of your life in the dirt? Get up and fight! You can sit here and mope about your past like a little boy, or you can get your shit together and move on and do something practical with yourself!"

Ryou doesn't understand why she's losing her calm at this, doesn't understand that her world runs on certain postulates and Bakura's strength is one of them. He doesn't understand that the very fabric of her logic is falling apart with Bakura and her instinct of self-preservation is kicking in because she needs things to make sense again.

Bakura still doesn't move. She holds his face in her hands. "This is so unlike you." A bit softer. She leans in closer, lips almost brushing his. Ryou thinks she might kiss him, but instead, screams at him, "GET THE HELL UP!"

"Goddamn you, woman!" he shouts, standing up and holding her by the collar of her dress. In a fit of rage, he throws her across the space, and she falls at an odd angle, sprawled out. In an instant she's back on her feet. "Damn you to hell!"

She regains her senses and frowns at the sudden assault. She runs at him and spins, aiming a kick at his face. He blocks it with one arm and grabs her ankle with his other hand. He could literally throw her hard enough to break some bones, but when he tries, she lands on her hands and springs onto her feet. She doesn't have anywhere near the brute force he does, but he can tell that her strength comes in flexibility. They run at each other and he aims a deadly blow right at her chest. She dodges it, and the momentum leaves him reeling forward. He instantly changes direction and manages to strike her in the arm. (A loud crack.)

"Stop fighting!" shouts Ryou. "Stop, Spirit, you could kill her!"

"Don't insult me!" she snarls, arm numb, avoiding another blow.

"Fight me like a man!" shouts Bakura, aiming a roundhouse at her vitals.

"I'm not a man!" She bends over and avoids the kick, which sends Bakura off-balance, but the wind of it sends her hair flying. She raises her leg and kicks Bakura's side.

"Bitch!" he grabs his side. "What the hell kind of woman are you?" He blocks another kick, grabbing her ankle. This time he won't throw her, but drops her to the floor and pins her immediately. She's trapped, but shows no sign of fear.

"Get off of me," she says darkly, gripping his hair forcefully, forcing his head back.

"No." He bends down, his nose almost touching hers. "I could kill you."

"Do it," she says, laughing darkly. "Kill me right now."

"You think I won't?" He draws a knife from his robe and points the tip at her chin, forcing her head back. "I could kill you right now and just be rid of you for good. There's no fear in your eyes, eh? What is this? Is this… lust?" He grins widely.

He doesn't notice she's drawn a little symbol in the sand, and a little spirit rushes out and attacks him. In his confusion, she escapes his grip (sliding out from underneath him, the knife cutting into her dress and sternum and lower abdomen) and stands up in a battle position. He chuckles darkly at the stains appearing on her dress, though she's indifferent to such minor pain.

"Try again," she sneers, cocky even though he doesn't have so much of a scratch.

Bakura is about to strike her again when he feels Ryou's weight holding him down. "What the hell, Yadonushi? I'm trying to shut her up!"

"Stop," protests Ryou, gripping onto Bakura. "She's already bleeding. I'm tired of violence!"

"Will you _stop insulting me?_" protests Necrofear. "Let him go, I can't hit a man when he's down. This isn't your business, boy!"

"You're hurt," Ryou tells her in concern. "You need to sanitize those wounds and rest."

"They're minor, but you'll have some serious wounds if you don't let him go now!" she glares right through Ryou, who gulps and hesitantly releases Bakura.

The hand-to-hand combat recommences, and Ryou winces at every crack that comes with each blow, biting his lip when Necrofear turns the tables by snatching Bakura's knife. Of course this angers Bakura, because the King of Thieves is very possessive, and he takes this personally and becomes even more aggressive.

"Don't touch my possessions," he growls, managing to violently strike her side. She lets out a cry of pain as she skids across the desert, one finger in the sand. Ignoring the throbbing, she runs straight at Bakura and then swerves, causing him to lose his balance and nearly fall over. As he regains his footing, she skids back in the sand, putting enough distance between them for her reaction time as charges back at her. She manages to dodge this time, flipping behind him and almost striking his back; he notices and moves.

"Come get it back, then!" she teases, practically skipping away from him in a semicircular path. He lunges at her in a straight line.

For some reason, she lets him strike her again, because she could have moved further or used his blow against him. She falls on her hands, and springs back onto her feet. Her trajectory makes no sense to Bakura, who can't tell if she's trying to hit him or just avoid his blows.

He closes the distance between them halfway when he realizes _he can't move_.

"What did you do?" he roars angrily.

"You've fallen right into my trap," she laughs wickedly. "Look at the ground."

He looks down and sees that their footsteps and skidmarks have traced a large cross in a circle, and that markings from her hands in each quadrant were made strategically. The whole symbol is glowing brightly, and invisible spirits are holding him down. "What is this?" he demands.

"Nothing, dear, just my magic!" She throws her head back and unleashes an inhuman laugh. "And you don't have your Diabound this time!" She crouches down and places her hands in the dirt. She's gotten to the point where she doesn't need to recite incantations out loud, but does it mentally, sacrificing her energy to give it to the hundreds of spirits that appear _en masse_ and cling to Bakura and try to drain his life energy.

"Like hell!" he shouts, unleashing a wave of shadow magic from his core and repelling the spirits. He may not have Diabound, but he still controls a good amount of Shadow Magic. He sends it in tendrils at her, trying to ensnare her, but a wave of spirits (and these are starting to look more and more like the spirits of Dark Sanctuary) fights his magic off. She's not moving from her position, not breaking the flow of energy.

At the same time, they up their power, forcing even harder, and her spirits fuse into a white glow and collide with his dark energy. The tension between the forces is visible; a stalemate that could go either way, it seems. Just two sources of energy caught midway, glowing and spinning and struggling against each other.

He channels more energy into his magic and pushes towards her, gaining an edge until she sends more life energy into the spirits and sets them even again, pushing back on him a little. This time, he takes a second to recover, and then pushes back, covering a good bit of distance. She knows she can only hold on for so long.

With a muffled scream, she sends the last bit of her energy into the spirits and just charges right through Bakura's magic, going to the halfway mark, even further, not stopping until she's at his throat. She's about to win and—

Bakura releases a roar and a wave of shadow magic, the strongest one yet, and breaks right through her spirit barrier and in an instant crashes it violently into her, and her drained body flies across the desert and lands at a grotesque angle. The circle and spirits disappear.

Ryou runs without thinking to her body, to make sure she's okay. Bakura follows at a steady pace, haughty, because the cocky girl got what she deserved in his mind.

"Are you okay?" asks Ryou, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," whispers Necrofear, even though almost all her life energy is gone at the moment. "I told you to stop insulting me."

Ryou laughs a little, because it's a completely different mentality.

"How are you still alive?" sneers Bakura, leering over her, even though he's pretty tired as well. She immediately sits up on her forearms, because she's not going to lay back if there's someone towering over her. "You got what you deserved, challenging me like that." He's on top of her again (Ryou's mind wanders slightly at the sight and he blushes), knife at her throat.

She doesn't slide out this time, but laughs darkly, raggedly, and gently runs her fingers through his hair. The action surprises him enough not to kill her on the spot. "Look at me," she says, voice hoarse. "Look what you've done. You've defeated one of the most powerful necromancers in Egypt, one of the most powerful Duel Monsters, without Diabound. And you barely broke a sweat doing it. If you weren't so down, I'm sure you could have killed me in ten minutes. Don't you ever go back to moping about wanting to be dead. You're the toughest man I know, Bakura, and you've just proved it. You're going to avenge your village, I know you will. I swear on my existence."

Bakura falls silent, it's something she does to him on a less than regular basis, and throws the knife to the side. Just looks at her, exhausted, bleeding a little, flustered and heaving and doesn't know what to think.

"You…" His words get a little lost. "You did all this just to… so I would… HOW STUPID ARE YOU?"

"Really?" asks Ryou. "Aren't you charming, Spirit."

"Shut up," snaps Bakura. "Why?" he asks Necrofear. "Why would you put your life on the line for me like that?"

"Remember when I asked you what I had done for you not to hate me?" she asks. Bakura nods. "Probably the same reason. And I wanted to face you again." She laughs lightly. "You're still kicking my ass. I'll have to work on that."

Bakura bursts out into laughter, the kind of laughter that acknowledges the ridiculousness of the situation, and he sits up and holds her against him. She doesn't have the strength to struggle. He just laughs, not darkly, but in good humor almost. Threads his fingers in her hair and makes her look at him. "You're insane, you know that? You might be just as crazy as me, if not more. I think you might be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She doesn't smile, or hold him back, but freezes because she's not sure she's heard right. Her immediate instinctual reaction is to pout darkly and give him a skeptical look. He keeps laughing; it's just all too ridiculous. Kisses her forehead. There's a reason she's his favorite.

Ryou laughs softly at how perfect they are together; wonder if he's the only one who sees how broken they both are and how they don't fix each other but it _works_.

* * *

><p>When the adrenaline has subsided and they've regained their energy, they stand up and head back towards civilization. Bakura notices that being in the desert, away from people, is one of Necrofear's trends. He'd guess she's rather anti-social, only comfortable around certain and few people, only putting up with him and Ryou because she has to. (Even though she didn't leave him when given the chance. It makes him wonder if he's the exception to the rule.)<p>

The three walk back, and Necrofear has been very quiet, dark energy slipping out of its confines. He can tell she's tired, but not from the fight. It's from her memories. Actually, when he takes a better look at her, her cheeks are sunken in and she looks like she hasn't eaten in days. Her hair is a little unkempt, and the doll has become even more worn out (resting on her hip and moving with each step she takes).

She doesn't say anything, and they follow her through the main parts of the village, past the merchants and around some buildings, until they reach the slums. Ryou might not know anything about Egypt, but he can tell by the toothless and dirty children playing, the trash and smoke around them, that this is one of the most dangerous parts of town. He sees Necrofear's free hand grip at a knife in her belt, her eyes scanning around the area like a hawk.

Even though she's no richer than any of them, she walks with a perfect posture, an attitude, like she has something over them. Maybe it's because she came from a decent family until she was reduced to poverty; maybe it's something else.

A boy, maybe a few years older than her, swerves around her and blocks her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's a pretty girl doing in a place like this?"

She immediately whips out the knife and points it at his neck. "What's a pretty boy like you doing with his intestines intact?"

He just stares in shock, not expecting this. Usually he would have a snide remark or a threatening gesture of his own, but he's a little dumbstruck. She takes the opportunity to push him aside and continue walking. She has better things to do.

Bakura is heavily amused, and also feels even more validated in his claim on her. She's not weak, not by any means. He likes this. It makes her more precious. A thief likes precious. "Fantastic," he muses.

"I have to deal with this crap every day," she seethes, quickening her pace. "At least this one didn't try to touch me. They get pretty bad around here." She smiles crookedly. "I kill them if they do."

"That's called sexual harassment," says Ryou quietly, but not shyly. "I think you would appreciate the modern world a bit more."

"It's called being a single woman in BC-era Egypt," she says. "Your modern world is no better. Just laws to make women feel better about themselves, but when something actually happens, there's almost always a loophole for the perpetrator. At least here I'm able to take care of it." She flicks her wrist, and the knife catches sunlight.

"Raving little feminist, aren't you?" chuckles Bakura.

"I dislike labels," she responds curtly, walking ahead, a determined look on her face.

Her workplace is around the corner, behind one of the buildings. It doesn't even deserve to be called a workplace; it's just a place for many outlaws to gather. A variety of people come, to trade for illegal weapons or forbidden spellbooks. There are a few women2 in the corners in extremely revealing clothing and bodies painted. Bakura knows exactly what they do, and Ryou can guess.

"Stay with me," he tells Ryou gruffly, grabbing his arm roughly.

Ryou doesn't say anything, but just follows Bakura. He knows he's in a dangerous place. They follow Necrofear until they reach an empty space. There is a crate nailed to the floor, with a lock. She raises her hand and it glows, and the lock clicks open. Inside the crate are various candles and herbs and incenses, as well as some other grotesque objects in labeled glass jars. Tools for necromancy.

She takes a few of them and holds them against her chest, closes the crate, and sits on it, leaning back against the wall, legs crossed.

"What now?" asks Bakura. He's not necessarily uncomfortable in the area, he's had more than his fair share of poverty and dirt, but he's done the effort to outgrow it. He feels like it's almost an insult, being put back here, even though he knows there's no other choice. He doesn't want to be reminded of his life before he became the King of Thieves, because it was full of mistakes and failures, and this setting... is exactly what it does.

"Now we wait," she says matter-of-factly.

"This is really interesting…" muses Ryou, looking around. "Who would have ever thought a place like this existed."

A couple of men head towards the area, and Bakura's eyes dart towards them.

"No," says Necrofear quickly, reading his mind. "Not for me."

The men separate, each one going to one of the scantily-clad women. They converse a little, and then leave arm-in-arm. Bakura can tell that they get far many more clients than Necrofear does. He can tell by the way she looks away and turns her nose upwards.

"I thought you were smart, but you obviously haven't noticed there's a more successful profession within reach," smirks Bakura. It's not necessarily an insult, but just Bakura being his manipulative self and wanting a reaction. Of course he'll get one.

"Absolutely not," she says harshly, in a tone that says there's not to be discussion on the matter. But since when has Bakura ever respected limits? Since when has he ever worried about someone's comfort, especially if it decreased his entertainment?

"Are you afraid of something, dear? Wouldn't you prefer it than to live like this, starving for days?" He leans in a little. "A pretty face like yours would find business in no time."

"Oh, you flatter me," she says sarcastically. "I have money for food, I just choose not to eat."

"Enlighten me with this stupidity."

"Death," she smirks. "It fascinates me. I want to see how far I can go, how close to the edge I can push myself. I haven't slept in 48 hours. I haven't eaten in three days. Look." She takes off one of her bracelets and shows him the cuts on her arm. "Sometimes I bleed so much I think I might die, but then I don't."

"No…" whispers Ryou. "That's horrible! Please don't do that to yourself!"

"Do you want to die?" asks Bakura. "Twisted morbid girl. You really have a deathwish, don't you?"

"Are we so different?" She leans forward. "Deep down inside you, you want to die, don't you? How many days did you wake up after _that_ and wish you died alongside them? You're afraid of death, but you _want_ it, Bakura. Don't deny it."

"I'm not _afraid_ of anything, and I don't want to die!" he snaps. Grips her wrist and moves her hand back angrily to emphasize his denial.

"You want to, but you _can't_," she presses on. "Neither can I, until I have my revenge. What do you plan on doing, after living for five thousand years? Once you avenge Kul Elna? Just hanging around in _his_ body for the rest of eternity?" She nods over at Ryou.

Bakura flinches at the mention of his village, because he's still raw, and Necrofear is unforgiving. He's got thick skin, though, so he can handle it. "My plans are none of your business," he says coldly. He holds her cut arm and looks at it. "This is ridiculous. You need to eat and get your rest to perform functionally."

She draws her arm back. "No, I don't. I'm fine. This is my way of handling it, while you have your way. Leave it." She glares at him.

"If you want to die so badly, I could kill you," he smirks, forehead nearly touching hers. "I'd give you the most glorious death you could ever ask for. I'd have my way with you until you were senseless and I'd just wrap my hands around your pretty little throat and—"

Ryou clears his throat. "Still here."

"Don't be vulgar," Necrofear tells Bakura. "Remember, none of this is _real_. It's all in my head. You can't kill me, even if I let you."

"Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it's not real," says Bakura immediately, almost taken aback. "It's in your head that things are the most real."

"No, they're not," she insists. "These are all just mind games of yours. They don't change anything that actually happened."

Bakura's legs are flush with the vertical side of the crate, and it only takes him a small effort to bend his knees and shift his weight and get on all-fours so he's leaning a little over her, their faces level. He puts one hand on her waist and squeezes lightly, hoping to encounter some flesh but finding only bones. "Everything I do, everything I feel… who's to say what's real? Who knows what actually happened in our lives, and what we projected from our minds? How do you know what I do to you here won't stay with you, and you won't believe I haven't accompanied you all these years?" He slides his hand lower, resting it on her hipbone, tracing it through her clothes with his fingers.

"Bakura…" she hisses in a dark voice, eyes narrowing, but she doesn't remove his hand. She doesn't want to be touched like this; she's never liked to be touched in general. There have been few exceptions; her family, the kisses with Bakura… but those were mutual. She. Does. Not. Want. His. Hand. There. And. Does. Not. Want. It. Traveling. Downwards…

"Tell me this isn't real," he whispers, as his finger moves more towards the center of her body, curiously going down, over the top of her leg.

"It feels real," she admits coldly. "But it's not. I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch me." She doesn't remove her eyes from his, her hand ready to grab his wrist should he actually try to go too far.

"Guys…" says Ryou quietly, but neither of them pay any attention to him.

"If it's not real, why do you care what I do?" smirks Bakura, fingers moving lower on her skirt until they come in contact with the bare skin of her leg. She shudders at the contact, her hand closer to his wrist. It's not that he wants to actually do anything with her as much as he enjoys the tantalizing game; enjoys getting reactions out of her and making her flustered. "What if we just did what we wanted right here, right now?"

"Keyword: we." She's not blushing, and Bakura's impressed. She doesn't react as his fingers push her skirt upwards. "You waste no time, really. I suggest you remove your hand right now." One more slight movement, getting dangerously close, and she grips his wrist forcefully, not letting him move his hand anymore.

"You're no fun." Bakura pouts mockingly. "I'm bored, you're bored, Yadonushi's bored—"

"Leave me out of this," says Ryou.

"No. I mean it, Bakura." She pushes his arm away from her. "Perhaps it hasn't occurred to you that it's broad daylight in public at my work and we're on a _crate_. I appreciate creativity but there's a limit."

"You speak as if you had any decision in the matter." He personally doesn't care; he's not really a sexual being, having lived outside his body for so long, but her defiance is starting to irritate him. He doesn't plan on hurting her, but in the end he could really care less, he thinks. Making his point is more important than her safety/comfort/sanity. "Remember, you belong to me."

Ryou holds his breath and claps his hands over his mouth to stop from interfering, because if Ryou just heard right, and he really hopes he didn't, Bakura's just insinuated _rape_. Or threatened it. Ryou doesn't know if there's any substance to the threat, and it seems more like Bakura's way with words than an actual threat, but Ryou is shaken because Bakura's tossed this so _lightly_. He'd like to think he could stop it if it ever really threatened to occur, but he knows Bakura is capable of _anything_.

"Wrong." She glares defiantly. "I belong to you as a monster. As a person I no longer exist, and you can't possess something that doesn't exist. You can make me do anything as a monster but when I am involved as a person the line is drawn. My trust for you is limited; you should be careful with the way you treat me."

Bakura is about to think of a comeback, stricken by her words (because he'd always considered her his possession and this defiance is upsetting him to the point of irrationality) when two men, faces covered and gold rings on their fingers, approach Necrofear. She sits up and pushes Bakura off.

"Miss Azeneth?" drawls out one of them, chuckling darkly.

"May I help you?"

"We've heard a great deal about you," says the other one, the tenor of his voice vibrating softly. "We have an offer to make you."

"Hm." Necrofear looks at them skeptically. "What offer?"

"The man who came yesterday to talk to his wife? He was one of us, and was thoroughly pleased with your skills. Actually, so pleased, he insisted we extend you an offer to membership."

Her eyes flicker slightly. "Membership?" she asks darkly, glancing from one man to the other. "Explain yourselves."

"The Death of Anubis," whispers the first man. "Egypt's top-secret organizations of the most elite necromancers. Surely you have heard of us?"

Her hand clenches around itself as she tries to find her words. "Y-yes," she manages. "You've been summoning spirits that have already passed on and defying the Gods."

"Correct. We want to offer you a position with us, as it seems you have the potential to do the same."

"O-oh."

"You will work in our building, in an office of your own, during standard business hours and take appointments as needed. You are to pay for your own supply and your earnings are dependent on how many clients you see."

"Bindings. Contracts," she asks sharply, in feigned confidence. "I've been offered positions before and I've turned them down."

"Life," sneers the second man. "People die to get in, and they also die trying to get out. Members of Anubis are for life. No one escapes with our information."

"I'm flattered," says Necrofear, less harshly. "This does not seem like such a good idea. It doesn't seem safe. Salary based on clients and buying my own supplies is how I do it now. And a life term?" She grins darkly. "Count me in."

"WHAT?" roars Bakura. "You're suicidal!"

"I dislike labels," she tells Bakura, smirking. "When do I start?" she asks the men.

"Today."

* * *

><p>Necrofear keeps her posture perfectly straight as usual, insisting on carrying her own share of the crate's supplies. Bakura and Ryou follow her through the streets and find themselves at the entrance of…<p>

…a brothel.

"No," she says coldly, stopping in her tracks.

"Our offices are located below the brothel," explains the man. "We must be kept secret. If you wish to take up a second job there, it's not a bad idea."

Ryou can't help but feel a little bad for her. He's picked up that it's not a stigmatized profession in Egypt, but the assumption she'd be willing… what a personal, invasive statement, as if the man knew anything about her.

"I'm not a whore," she says sharply. "Before I start here, let's make this clear. Don't expect anything from me."

"Your attitude is starting to annoy me," says the first man. "Say what you will but show some respect when you do it."

"Fine," she grumbles.

"We will go in," explains the second man. "Stay in the brothel for a few minutes, until we send one of our men up. He will escort you down and proceed with the formalities. We can't leave you out here alone but you cannot enter our property without registering you officially."

The men enter first, and after a few minutes, Necrofear takes a step into the brothel.

The lights are dim, and the girls are not wearing anything except short linen skirts and jewelry. Some of them are dancing to music, some leaning around and conversing, some posing and making eyes at Necrofear, noticing her slight hesitance and uneasiness.

"Fresh meat," hisses one of them, with painted nails and gold earrings. She approaches Necrofear and slides an arm around her waist. "Welcome, welcome!"

Necrofear pushes her away. "I'm not one of you, and I'm not here to be."

"Oh, do you want one of us?" asks another, this one with red hair and heavy kohl. "Unusual for a woman, but it happens." She tilts Necrofear's chin upwards to her, ignoring the shudder because Necrofear dislikes touch.

"A woman… with another woman?" she asks, too curious to bother pushing the redhead away. "Does that… work?"

"I can make it work," she smirks. "I like it better. It's my way of telling men we don't need them for anything."

"Now you're speaking my language." She gives Bakura dirty look, even though all these sentences were not originally said in his presence. "Ra bless any man who can convince me to sleep with him."

"Bad experience?"

"No experience, and I want it to stay that way."

"WHAT?" Bakura's jaw drops open. "You're sixteen and you've never—"

"—and I'll never," finishes Necrofear curtly. She looks back at the redhead. "So I'm not the only one with an objection to having human body parts stuffed in places I can't see and not being able to reciprocate."

Bakura is about to open his mouth again when Ryou elbows him. "Will you stop being an inconsiderate windbag?" He glares at Bakura. "This is clearly personal information, you shouldn't see this and you can at least respect her sexuality!"

"This has nothing to do with sexuality. It's about power, Yadonushi." Bakura elicits a look of curiosity from Ryou. "She's opposing _receptivity_ and _bodily_ _invasion_ and the idea that a man's actions would cause her _re-_actions, while she anatomically has no ability to reciprocate. She's clearly attracted to men, you've seen with your own eyes."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," smirks Necrofear. "But your landlord is right; it's none of your business." With that she turns to face the redhead, and even though Necrofear is younger and shorter, she's the one in control between the two of them, the redhead against a wall and their foreheads touching.

"You're blushing," Bakura tells Ryou. "You hormonal teenage boy."

"Leave me alone."

Bakura wonders if they're actually going to kiss when a man, no doubt from the Death of Anubis, makes his way into the room. He knows which one Necrofear is by the fact that she's actually wearing clothing. She snaps back immediately and stands up straight, not showing any signs of embarrassment because she's sure that whoever this man is, he's done plenty with these girls.

"Miss Azeneth." He shakes her hand. "Follow me."

She follows him into one of the "private rooms," glancing uneasily. He pulls down a lever hidden behind a statue, and a door behind the headboard of the bed slides open, revealing a staircase. They head down, Bakura and Ryou at their heels.

The stairs are dark and the ceiling is low, and odd echoes are coming off the walls. The candles against the walls are dim. Bakura hears her exhale, knows she's found home in the darkness and feels faintly comfortable here too. Ryou, on the other hand, clutches at Bakura's robe. As much as he is interested in occult, this is a little too much for his tastes.

The stairs lead them deep underground, the only light coming from many candles lined along the walls. When they reach the end, the man undoes six locks and leads her inside, Bakura and Ryou following.

A long corridor snakes around, adorned with defiled statues of the gods. Dark spirits can be sensed; doors are closed and numbered, strange howling and whimpers floating to their ears. They walk quietly to the end of the hallways, where a large door stands, domineering over the young girl and her companions. The man doesn't bother knocking, but opens it and steps in.

If any setting were to have ominous theme music, it would have been this one; an office enshrouded in darkness, candles in decayed skulls on the desk. A tall, muscular man—bigger than Bakura—leans over the desk, sneering. "Welcome," he says thickly, eyes darting at the exploitation waiting to happen.

It's strange, she's been dead a thousand years, but she still hears her heart pounding as it did the first time she went through this. The man intimidates her, but she shows nothing. No disrespect, but no fear. "Hello." Her voice shakes lightly.

"Miss Azeneth," the bass of his voice fills the room. "We understand you're invited as our newest member. This is an invitation you should be proud of. Are you prepared to become one of us?"

She nods lightly—there's not much thought into it, but she doesn't have many options does she?

"Now, we will need you to pledge yourself to the organization, and you will be shown to your work room, where you will set your materials up. The initiation process is in one week."

"Initiation?" she asks, more loudly than anticipated.

"If you don't make it out, you're not worth being one of us," he says casually, the thick rings on his fingers glowing in candlelight.

The light reflects off her eyes, flickering like fire—they have a habit of doing that, Ryou notices, it could be beautiful if she wasn't so deadly, and dead.

"Challenge accepted." Her voice is cold, her lips almost curve into a smirk, heart still pounding-

* * *

><p>"You think that whore is nicer than me?" asks Bakura, smirking, leaning against the desk.<p>

"Of course not." She arranges the candles on the shelf. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not the one biting scorpions' heads off," he chuckles.

"I did overreact," she says emotionlessly. "I don't know why, I thought I might-"

"Lose me?" asks Bakura. "You usually panic when it comes to loss. You panic when we talk about people you've lost, but you panic even more at the prospect of losing more. Don't think I didn't hear your heart pounding when we were out there on the crate, having a heart attack over the thought of losing your virginity. You're going to have to, eventually."

"No." She sets out the different herbs and incenses on the ground, and arranges them around. "Maybe loss does resonate with me. What's it to you?"

"Everything. I want to know your inner workings."

"So you can dismantle me," she says calmly, switching the jars around. "I don't trust myself with you."

"I don't _dismantle_," drawls Bakura. "I possess. Perhaps you dismantle."

"I destroy everything I have." She removes more contents from the box. "Everything substantial in my life has to go. I can't hold on to it; it's too strange. It's usually taken from me, and if not, I end up destroying it. I don't want to, but that's the way it is."

"Like what?"

"Like my family. The boy who put the ribbon in my hair. My control. My sanity. My life." She sighs. "Do you know why I shamelessly kissed you when I met you?"

"Hormones?"

"No," she says seriously. "Because you made me happy, and I wanted a little piece of that to stay, even though I knew you would leave." She holds up her wrist and takes off a bracelet, to reveal a faded ribbon under it. "I kept this as a reminder not to hold onto anything. I was so tired of losing everything but… disappointment is an acquired taste. At least when I feel the pain I know I'm alive, but… I don't want to be."

"You're contradicting yourself."

"Who said any of this had to make sense?"

"Fair enough." He rests his head in his hand. "Do you think you're going to lose me again?"

"Yes," she answers honestly. "I think the Gods are trying to torment me or something. I don't really like company but I'll enjoy yours while I can, and when you leave, I'll just get on with my business. It's simple. I don't hold onto things anymore; pain means nothing; I've been dead thousands of years."

"I'm not leaving," says Bakura, authoritatively, not reassuringly. "I never return possessions. You're mine, forever."

"Mhmm." She carries a few jars against herself and sets them on the desk next to Bakura. "I'll grow dusty on a shelf and you'll forget all about me."

"Don't insinuate I don't take good care of my possessions!" he hisses, banging a fist on the table.

"You do a horrible job with your landlord."

"I do a damn good job, _thank you very much_." Bakura seethes.

"I'm sure he'd agree," she says sarcastically.

"He doesn't like you either."

"I don't need him to." She begins arranging the jars on the shelf above her, but then stops to give Bakura a quick kiss.

"What was that for?"

"Just enjoying your company." She continues arranging the herbs.

"You could enjoy my company on your desk."

"Will you stop? Go upstairs, there's a damn brothel."

"I don't want them, I want _you_. And besides, you've threatened to rip my head off if I so much as kiss anyone else." He says it jokingly, because it's very clear he's the one in authority here; he could do whatever he wanted with anyone and she'd have to take it no matter what.

"That's right, I wouldn't want their hands on you." She gently holds the underside of his face and locks their lips together, and he instantly brings her closer, so she's standing between his legs, her knees jamming into the side of the desk. "Their filthy hands," she whispers, breaking away.

"I like your hands better, especially when they're covered in blood," Bakura tells her before closing the space between them again, getting lost in the feeling of her arms around him and the taste of death and neglect on her lips. It's perfect, so perfect… it's in moments like these that he knows he'll never leave her dusty on the shelf. He leans back, settling on his forearm and pulling her with him with the other. It leaves her with one leg straight and one bent, knee on the desk. Uncomfortable, but she doesn't pull away.

He pulls her down even more, leaning back against the desk though still dominating, feeling the cold/warmth of her body against his. It's perfect, just too perfect…

"AAAAAAHHHH!" _THUMP._

They snap apart and see a boy about Ryou's age with tan skin and sandy-bond hair sprawled on the floor. He stands up and brushes off his clothes. "Ra, what am I interrupting? I can leave."

"Malik, it's me, you fool!" grumbles Bakura, still keeping an arm around Necrofear. "You Ra-damned c*ckblock!"

"Bakura?" he asks. "Where am I, and what happened to you?"

"You're in the Shadow Realm, and this is my real body. Any more intelligent questions?"

"Yes. Can I watch?"

In an instant, Necrofear's black fire glow appears around her body, and when she smiles she bares jagged teeth. "If you insist."

Malik looks in shock, and then cracks up. "Bakura, you're in a relationship with your _Duel Monster_? I'm trying to save myself from the darkness and protect my sibling and you're here being obscene with a Duel Monster? You should be helping me!"

"You might want to watch the way you phrase your sentences, mortal," sneers Necrofear. "You think you're so special to Bakura? You're ephemeral. A few years and you'll be gone. I'll always be here. Don't call me a Duel Monster like it's an insult. Go back to your business."

"I don't take orders from anyone, so be quiet!" snaps Malik. "I'm here to talk to Bakura!"

"So do it," hisses Bakura. "Mister Impeccable Timing."

"My darker side will be dueling the Pharaoh very soon. I don't know how much I will be able to fight him off to ensure the victory of the Pharaoh."

"I've helped you enough," says Bakura in a low growl. "You have failed me twice. I'm not dealing with this again. I have no body to use right now, so keep doing whatever you're doing. I'm preoccupied."

"Clearly. I'll be in Anzu's body." And with that, Malik left, disappearing into thin air.

"Where were we?" asks Bakura, pulling her back on top of him.

"You're not getting any," says Necrofear, propping herself up against his chest.

"Could have fooled Malik."

"I'm not going to disagree with you in front of someone else. I'm on your side."

Bakura grins. "I like you."

She grins back. "I know. But I have work so you need to get off my desk."

They both stand up and fix their clothes.

"I won't flip out if you go upstairs," she tells him. "I'm your Duel Monster, not your wife. Do what you want."

"I didn't need your permission," scoffs Bakura, nodding at her and leaving with a swish of his cloak. "Have fun, dear."

She sighs and organizes the supplies absentmindedly. Absentmindedly with no regrets.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So… I haven't updated in forever. Life got in the way. Thanks to everyone who has kept up with this and encouraged me.

To be honest, I dislike this story now. I had this chapter unfinished and I wanted to finish it for all the people who reviewed, but in the past months since I've updated, I've evolved a lot with this shipping and I just don't like this story anymore… I think I'll finish it, though, because I don't want to abandon a story.

Also please don't forget to review the chapter and tell me what you like and what I could improve on!


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